Plaything The Freak On His Leash SamDean NC17
by LadyCrystalCastalia
Summary: He's the only one who gets to call him that, and when he stops, Sam feel like he's withering inside. Lucifer has risen and Ruby has run away, but rogue angels and a legion of demons are still the least of his worries. He just wants his brother ...
1. Ch1 Dying In His Frozen Seas

**Title: **Plaything (The Freak On His Leash) Sam/Dean - NC-17

**Spoilers:** seasons 3, 4 and 5

**Summary:** He's the only one who gets to call him that, and when he stops, Sam feel like he's withering inside. Lucifer has risen and Ruby has run away, but rogue angels and a legion of demons are still the least of his worries. He just wants his brother back; because there is nothing in the world like being Dean's "Sammy".

**Word count: **35,000

**Genre:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, First time, Porn, Schmoop

**Warnings:** light BDSM, corporal punishment, occasional rough sex (consensual), non graphic torture and death of a minor character (not our darlings!), some language.

**Kinks:** D/s, Dom!Dean/Sub!Sam, Jealous/Possessive!Dean, dirty talk, phone sex, spanking, rimming, use of endearments

**Other characters: **Bobby; Ruby make one appearance

**Author's notes:** An exploration of Dean's feelings after Lucifer Rising, of Sam's guilt and motives for going Ruby-side, and of the boys' pain and enduring love for each other through their most trying time. Follow the erotically codependent Winchester brothers on their chaotic way back to each other as they try to work out their issues (that damn phone call too): dysfunctional couples' therapy at its finest ;).

**Thanks:** to **genevieve_1** for the beta work and to **loverstar** for the banner

Chapter 1: Dying In His Frozen Seas

Chapter 2: Kisses Of Fire On My Skin _("He Hit Me, And It Felt Like A Kiss") _

Part I: Bag Of Treats

Part II: The Master's Pet

Part III: Fuck Toy

Chapter 3: Mixed Feelings

Chapter 4: Slave For Your Love

Part I: Sick Puppies

Part II: Wounded Warriors

Chapter 5: Crimes For His Passion

Chapter 6: Love, Don't Let Me Go

Part I: Broken Puppet

Part II: A Master On His Knees

Part III: Sweet Child Of Mine

Part IV: Lovers' Pledge

Part V: Pretty Little Angel

Epilogue: Call Me Sammy

**CHAPTER 1: DYING IN HIS FROZEN SEAS**

_The italics are for internal dialogue_

_It could all be so simple_

_But you'd rather make it hard_

_Loving you is like a battle_

_And we both end up with scars_

_Tell me, who I have to be_

_To get some reciprocity_

_See no one loves you more than me_

_And no one ever will_

Lauryn Hill – X-Factor

_Look at me, please._

Dean never looked at him anymore; really looked. The once-sparkling emerald eyes hadn't met his in what felt like ages. They looked to the side, under, around, and through him, but never at him.

They were in the small town of Sunny Creek. It was their first hunt since the Beast had been freed from its cage. Ruby had escaped certain death by smoking out of the corpse she was possessing, right before the knife Dean was holding pierced clear through her vessel's skin. After branding their ribs with protective sigils to hide them from angels, Castiel had gone on his mission to find God and had not contacted them since. They had spent a couple of weeks in Sioux Falls, buried in books and digging for clues, but still had no lead on how to stop the Devil.

Tired of the tense atmosphere they were spreading to his house, so thick it seemed to ooze from the walls, like mold, and made it impossible to concentrate on research when the both of them happened to be in the room at the same time, Bobby had finally shooed them away and sent them on a job after getting a call for help from an old doctor friend of his.

Sunny Creek's oldest hospital, St. Rita, had been haunted for the past year. Among the dozens of patients who reported seeing the specter, several women had died in mysterious circumstances, unrelated to their condition, some even making a full recovery right before they were found lifeless, with broken bones and dark bruises which no one could explain, just as they were about to be discharged.

It quickly became clear to the skilled hunters that the angry spirit turned violent whenever female patients, fitting a certain type, were admitted to the east wing of the hospital. The job had kept them busy for several days; a welcome distraction that had allowed them to ignore the gap that was widening between them, but as they stood above the burning coffin of William Henley, a mean drunk who had tripped over his shotgun as he was chasing his battered wife with his cane and later succumbed to his injuries at St. Rita, each knew that their brief truce was about to be broken.

However, if Sam was ready for things to change, Dean wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the sand and keep ignoring their problems. Every time Sam had tried to broach the subject of what had happened in the last months: the demon blood, Ruby, their fight in that hotel room, the final seal, the whole catastrophe, Dean had systematically shot him down.

Sam closed his laptop with a demoralized sigh. It had been three days since they had rid St. Rita of its misogynistic, self-appointed reaper and he had failed to make any progress with his brother. His approach was manifestly not working and he was hard-pressed to find new inspiration in the suffocating air of their motel room.

He put his jacket on, deciding a little walk would help clear his head and provide the perfect opportunity to replace his pair of dark blue jeans that was hanging on his hips by a thread.

"I'm going out," he said. "Should be back in an hour or two."

Dean didn't look up from the gun he was polishing. He shrugged, showing how utterly meaningless the announcement was to him. Something stabbed at Sam's heart.

"I'm just going to the mall," he felt the need to disclose.

"You can go wherever you want, Sam," Dean replied, uninterested.

_Why don't you call me Sammy anymore? Ever. You haven't, since that day. I wish I could take back all the times I told you not to; and take back everything else too; because then, you'd look up, and smile at me, so bright that your eyes would crinkle at the corners. I miss it Dean, so much; because to you, Sammy meant "good", Sammy meant "loved", and Sammy meant "mine". _

Dean barely even talked to him anymore, as if he was negating the fact that Sam was even there. As if that tall, hovering presence that followed him with doleful eyes could have been anybody. As if Sam was gone. And maybe that's what it was. In his heart, Dean felt his Sammy was gone.

_But I'm still here, Dean. _

Dean looked up. Not high enough that their eyes would meet, but Sam still saw the ice hardening the sea-colored irises, and he felt the chill of rejection in his bones, as if Dean had heard his thoughts and answered, _No, you're not. Not my Sam, anyway_. _And for sure, not the one I walked through Hellfire for. _

"You don't need my _say so_ to do anything, Sam."

Sam didn't miss the biting sarcasm dripping from the words. He had used them, one day, under a siren's spell; hurled them at Dean, contempt lacing his voice, when his brother had found out he was plotting with the black-eyed jezebel behind his back.

He remembered how, as he was spitting, _"So, I need your _say so_ to make a phone call, Dean?"_, his face twisted with the condescending superiority he treated his older brother with at the time, especially when his guilty conscience nagged him about all the lies and toxic secrets that were darkening his veins, as surely as the Hell spawn's blood was.

_Will you ever forgive me? Or do you think I'm lying to you now, so I can go meet her somewhere? Cause I'm not. I haven't seen her, heard of her, or tried to contact her… You probably don't even care anymore. _

Sam hung his head. Gone were the days when Dean would move Hell, Heaven, and Earth for him. If he went out and never came back, he wondered if his brother would even notice. Dean probably wished he would go away, just so he wouldn't have to put so much energy into pretending Sam was not there in the first place.

"Do you want anything?" he asked, in spite of his better judgment.

He knew the answer, but couldn't help himself. Dean didn't want anything he had to give these days. He had bought Dean a slice of pie two mornings ago. Dean had looked around him, as he did now, and nodded a silent thank you. Sam had found the little box intact in the trash the next day and been as hurt by the discovery as a little kid who finds the drawing he made for his favorite teacher, crumpled in the recycle bin.

"No thanks." Dean moved to the opposite side of the room and leaned against the kitchen counter, looking hard at the scratched tiles under his boots.

One other thing he did often these days was move whenever Sam came too close to him. He didn't jump and take off running; he just got up after a minute or two, if he was seated, or remembered he needed something far away, if he was already on his feet. Sam wasn't sure Dean even realized he was doing it.

He nodded to himself and exited the room, then leaned against the door and closed his eyes against the pricking of tears gathering behind his lids. _Christ._ It hurt. So damn much that in moments like these, his lungs constricted and left him struggling for the next breath.

Was this how his brother felt as he watched, powerless, as Sam slipped away, further and further into the darkness? Dean had just climbed out of the pit then, raw and peeled to the bone, only to watch Sam fill his veins with venom that progressively turned him into that stranger who looked down on the man who had cared for him all his life, and berated a brother recovering from decades of torture for supposedly being weak.

Sam walked at a slow pace, choosing the most isolated road to avoid the midday crowd on the main streets. After a while, he gave up trying to keep his face dry as rivers of shame poured freely from his joyless eyes.

* * *

><p>Dean let out a strained sigh. It seemed like he was constantly holding his breath when Sam was around. Sam with the puppy dog eyes, silently demanding answers since he was forbidden from mentioning the herd of pink elephants trampling through their room out loud. Sam's eyes following him everywhere he tried to hide, haunting him.<p>

He fell to his knees, brought down by the pain in his chest. A pain that grated away at his heart at all hours of the day and brought tears to eyes as he struggled to find sleep between the memories of Hell and the betrayal from the one dearest to his heart.

Food didn't taste like much anymore. Every pretty girl who looked his way morphed into the raven haired witch who was taunting him in his nightmares, breastfeeding scarlet poison to his little brother, a smirk on her face as she watched Alastair strip the skin from Dean's bones and patted the head of an oblivious Sam, who thirstily drank her evil in, demon blood dripping down his chin.

Dean grabbed the whiskey bottle on the table and took a swig. When was it going to stop? When was it going to go away? He wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a month. Maybe then he'd forget. His phone rang and he dragged himself to his feet to pick it up.

"Hiya, Bobby." he greeted with a raspy voice.

"You don't sound too good kid. How are you doing?"

"Just peachy."

"And I was born yesterday. How's your brother?"

The rusty cheese grater moved in Dean's chest again, scraping a chunk of bleeding flesh away. His fingers shook, calling out for the comforting warmth of the smoky sweet amber elixir.

"Don't know," he answered, pressing the heel of his palm over his brow. He didn't want to talk about this. "He's out."

"Have you two talked since…?"

"Bobby, with all due respect-"

"Mind my own business? Not a chance, not when you boys are hurtin' like this."

"_Hurting?_ Sam's fine!" Dean snarled. "Probably somewhere cavorting with that demonic bitch of his."

"You mind your tone with me, boy."

"I'm sorry."

On the other end of the line Bobby groaned and moved his cap around, trying to cool his head, as it was about to explode. The Winchester boys were going to be the death of him.

"Why would he do that, now that he knows who she works for? And you're blind if you think your brother's fine."

Dean scoffed. The notion that Sam could go back to Poison Ivy should be absurd, but he had seen such a thing happen before, even after Sam had been confronted with ample evidence that the Miss Universe Of Lying Skanks was leading them on from the jump.

Sam had a blind spot, the size of the Gran Canyon, where she was concerned, and all the little temptress had to do was come up with some bogus explanation, swear up and down she could help him undo the damage, sit on his dick, offer him a hit of devil juice, and she would have him eating out of her palm again.

"Maybe you don't know Sam as well as you think," he said, his voice breaking. "Maybe neither of us does."

"Kid…"

"Listen, Bobby, I can't!"

"You don't want to talk about it. You don't want to face it. What _do _you want to do?"

"Why is it always on me to do something?" Dean snapped. "Okay, so maybe I'm a bossy, overbearing, annoying son of a bitch! Hey, maybe I'm a dick sometimes! Does it mean I deserved this? You don't know how much he…" Dean shook himself. He was so done crying like some chick over this. "Forget it."

"Son…"

"Don't wanna hear it. You ain't in my shoes, so don't tell me how I need to get over it, or be the bigger man. I am through chasing after someone who doesn't give a crap."

"Sam cares a great deal."

"Screw him. He can do what he wants, see if I care. He can run off to live the life he always wanted. I'm sure as Hell not holding him back anymore."

The old hunter heard the boy he loved like a son choke on the other end of the line. Dean was hurt, bitter, and he was holding Sam at arm's length, making any attempt at reconciliation impossible.

"Your brother called me," he shared, hoping Dean's heart might soften if he knew that Sam had reached out to Bobby, terrified that he had burned a bridge with Dean, and desperate to find a way to rebuild it.

"Let me guess. To tell you how difficult I am to get along with these days."

"He just needed someone to talk to. He's trying, you know."

"Well, good for him if he has you to confide in," Dean said, as if he only heard the first part of the sentence.

"I'm on your side, kid. I'm on both your sides!"

"Sure, Bobby," Dean answered quickly. "Thanks for checking up on me, I gotta go." He was in no mood to hear how _he _was mistreating his poor, misunderstood, little brother.

"Dean!"

"I'll call you later, Bobby."

Dean hung up, missing Bobby's comment about bullheaded Winchesters, tossed his phone, and made his way to the bottle that was singing his name.

* * *

><p>When Sam came back to the motel, his brother was nowhere in sight. He put the bag containing his new pair of jeans on the table, picked the empty bottle off the floor, and flopped on his bed with a sigh.<p>

"Where are you now, Dean?" he asked to the empty room.

He was worried, knowing his brother was out there, self-destructive, probably drunk out of his mind, and actively looking for trouble. He wanted to go look for him and bring him home, but he also knew he was the last person Dean wanted any help from. He grabbed his laptop to do a little research and waited, growing more anxious as the day wore on, looking out the window from time to time, hoping to see the Impala rolling into the parking lot.

At nightfall, still without news, he gave in and tried calling his brother once every hour. After getting Dean's voice mail for the fourth time, he went to bed and started praying for a solution, an idea, a miracle, hope; anything whatever benevolent force, that would be listening, had to spare.

When he woke up in the middle of the night to the sight of Dean stumbling into the room with a bruised cheek, a busted lip, and bloody knuckles, Sam knew what he had to do.

_**Chapter 2: Kisses Of Fire On My Skin (He Hit Me, And It Felt Like A Kiss)**_


	2. Ch2 Kisses Of Fire On My Skin P1 BOTreat

**CHAPTER 2: KISSES OF FIRE ON MY SKIN _(HE HIT ME, AND IT FELT LIKE A KISS)_**

_"He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)" _

Song title from song writers Gerry Goffin & Carole King

**PART I: BAG OF TREATS**

Something was different.

After weeks of tiptoeing around him, and melting into corners to get out of his way, Sam was suddenly everywhere; sliding close on the couch when he was trying to watch TV, crowding him when he tried to put some distance between them, staring all the time.

It was unnerving, and Dean quickly started feeling like a cornered animal, with no room to escape. He could always go out for air, but he refused to let Sam run him out of his own room on principle.

He limped back from the kitchenette, an ice pack pressed over his purple cheek bone and bumped into Sam once again. He waited for his brother to make way, but Sam just stood there, taking up as much space as he could, until Dean finally cracked.

"What are you, friggin' stalking me now?" He was almost shaking, he was so sick of it. He felt uneasy, under siege. He used to feel so _at home_ around Sam... "Move," he warned.

Sam didn't. He even took one step forward, standing so close, Dean was forced to look up. He was hit by the pain he saw in his brother's eyes, and when tears started rolling from the hazel pearls, the sweetness of a forgotten emotion started spreading through his chest, fluttering like the broken wings of a tired butterfly trying to soar to the sky again.

He squashed it back into the darkness, and hardened himself almost immediately. He used to be a fool for those eyes. No more. He wanted to remember the disdain clouding them, when Sam was kneeling over him with his hands around his throat, and right before he walked out of the trashed honeymoon suite. It would keep him from stepping over his pride, once again, to beg for scraps of a love he wasn't sure he ever truly had. It was the reason he had stopped looking at Sam, after those eyes had turned pleading. He might not be Stanford-smart, but, unlike his brother, he was not that easy to manipulate.

"Move," he growled.

More tears rolled down the baby smooth cheeks. "You're going to have to move me yourself," Sam replied.

"I don't have time for this."

Dean tried to brush past Sam on the left; Sam blocked the access to the living room. Incredulous, Dean tried again on the opposite side, only to collide into a tower of flesh and muscle. He moved backwards, chest heaving, struggling to hold on to the last few strands of his self-control. What did Sam think he was going to accomplish going Glenn Close on him?

"Move now, or so help me, God…"

_What? You'll beat me into the ground, like I did you when I was hopped up on demon blood? Do it. At least it'll give me something to work with. Anything's better than sitting around, watching you slip away, because I can't even make you mad enough that you'll take a second to look at me._

Sam took a courageous step forward. He was treading on thin ice, and he would keep walking until it broke. He took two more steps, and it happened. Dean swung his fist, punching him once in the face.

Sam did nothing to protect himself. He simply stood up straight and placed himself in the exit path, like a human road block again. Dean's shoulders slumped.

"What do you want from me?"

Sam remained speechless for a moment. At last. It was more attention than he had received in weeks, and it was almost too much to take. His improbable plan to coax his brother out of his passive-aggressive lethargy by getting on his last nerve, was working. Sure, Dean's response didn't exactly qualify as positive, but Sam knew that anger was so much closer to love than indifference would ever be.

He wiped the blood that was trickling from his mouth and replied, "I want you to look at me. I want you to talk to me." Dean snorted but he continued, "I want you to tell me what you're thinking. Yell. Say something. Anything! At least I'll know you still give a damn!"

"You have some nerve, asking me to do anything, just so you can feel better."

"This isn't just about me." He put a hand on Dean's arm. "You think I don't see how miserable you are?"

"Get your hands off me," Dean hissed; an unmistakable hint of menace in his tone.

Sam opened his arms wide. "Do you want to take another swing? Do it, if it makes you feel better. 'Cause you have to let it out, somehow, Dean. Or it'll grow inside of you, and fester, and we'll never have a chance to get back…"

"Who says I want to get back to anything? You think you're just going to take a few slaps and we're going to be_ all_ good?"

"No, I don't. I know it's not going to be enough, but I'm ready to do whatever it will take."

Sam finally moved out of the way. He went to open his bedside drawer, pulled out a draw string bag, and handed it to Dean.

Dean studied the navy blue bag suspiciously. He noted it was heavy, and his eyebrows shot up when he recognized the brand discreetly printed on a corner, a harmless looking dog paw he had only seen while surfing x-rated websites.

"Where did you get this?"

"Bought it this morning, a little shop not far from the mall."

Dean pulled the strings open and quickly viewed the contents. "What's all that for?" he asked, trying not to jump to outlandish conclusions.

"I'm sure you have some idea, Dean."

_Okay, so much for hoping there was a logical explanation. _"What is this?" Dean asked. "_Fight Club _in leather chaps? Have you lost your mind?"

Sam didn't answer.

"This… this is crazy. I can't-"

"Really? Tell me the thought of using all of this on me doesn't tempt to you. Tell me you didn't feel a little better, when you…" Sam waved his hand at his split lip.

"Why would you let me?"

"Because, I want _us_ back; and it's never going to happen if we don't find a way to get past this." Sam looked down, dejected. "It hurts me when you act like I'm invisible, but I don't think it's helping you feel any better. You're as angry today as you were three weeks ago, if not more. At least with this, you'll feel free to punish me the way you really want to, until you're satisfied I learned my lesson, and, maybe, we'll be able to move on."

Dean looked at his brother as if he had grown another head, but, somewhere inside, he was admitting to himself that Sam had a point. He was filled with resentment, way too pissed for the touchy feely couple's therapy crap to work, and, even if he knew that his tendency to get belligerent when words failed him was one of his biggest flaws, he couldn't deny that he always felt better when he was able to let some aggression out; but he didn't want to let it out on Sam. Or did he? The idea would have repulsed him a year ago. The fact that it no longer did, showed they had almost reached the point of no return.

The last time he had spoken with Sam about their situation, he had told him that there was nothing Sam could do to repair their damaged relationship. He had obviously underestimated his little brother's commitment and resourcefulness.

"How long?" Dean asked, barely believing he was actually considering it.

"As long as necessary."

* * *

><p>Sam turned the page of his book and looked at the tacky sun-shaped clock hanging on the wall. Already 10:33 pm, and still no sign of Dean. After their discussion, he had gone for a walk to give Dean some space to think. When he had come back, the room was empty, and he hadn't heard from Dean since.<p>

He replayed their confrontation in his head. He thought he had finally managed to get through to his brother, but he wasn't so sure anymore. He had rocked the boat, forced Dean to make a decision, and now Dean could always decide that he wanted out, for good.

What if he had pushed too far? What he was suggesting was far removed from reasonable and appropriate behavior between siblings; but they weren't like everybody else, and the tangled web of knots, blood, anger, and passion, that was their relationship, had broken the neat and too-tight boundaries of 'normal' years ago.

Beyond that, the reason he was willing to go to these extremes, was because he understood what Dean was really angry about. It wasn't the powers, the dark blood he had been cursed with when he was a toddler, and certainly not his part in a scheme that had been cooking since Creation. It was _her_, everything he had given to her that belonged to Dean: most of which, his loyalty and trust.

Sam knew a thing or two about the mechanics of revenge. If he truly wanted to even the scores and go back to the way things used to be, he had to find a way to give back, to his brother, everything Dean felt he had lost due to his little tryst with Lilith's right hand woman.

He had allowed Ruby to jerk his strings like a marionette. It was only fair that Dean be afforded the same privilege. At least, this time, Sam would be a willing puppet. He would let Dean play with him, break him, and glue him back together as many times as he needed, until the satisfaction of retribution healed the space that was left ravaged by the betrayal. He would take everything his brother had to give, the bitter with the sweet, and hold his cries, while Dean scratched every stain left by the other off Sam's skin, until he recognized the boy he had pretty much raised and cherished above all else.

"Please give us a chance to fix this," Sam prayed aloud.

His phone rang and relief poured over him when he saw the name on the caller ID.

"Dean, where are you? I've been worried sick."

The voice that cut him off was cold. The tone, demanding.

"Let me tell you how this is going to work. You don't discuss orders. You don't get to make decisions. You do whatever is asked of you. From the moment I say "start", it doesn't stop until I say "over". There's no turning back, no safe word, and no breaks. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam's heart thumped in his chest. He nodded. "Yeah."

"I will tell you how to speak, when to speak, how to behave. I won't tolerate disobedience, and you will be disciplined every time you break the rules. This is not open for debate. Take it, or leave it: Yes or no."

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Yes."

"Good."

Dean hung up the phone and Sam stood still, struck by the enormity of what he had just agreed to. His heart was beating hard against his chest, racing with a mix of fear and excitement. The phone rang again.

"Start."

Sam closed his eyes and drew in a stuttered breath. Life as he knew it had just ended and he had no idea for how long.

_Part II – The Master's Pet_


	3. Ch2 Kisses Of Fire On My Skin P2 TMP

**CHAPTER 2: KISSES OF FIRE ON MY SKIN _(HE HIT ME, AND IT FELT LIKE A KISS)_**

**PART II: THE MASTER'S PET**

"What were you doing?"

"Um, reading," Sam replied, even if he had been stuck on the same two pages for more than an hour.

"Stop it."

"Okay."

"First, you're going to turn off all the lights."

"…now?" Sam hesitated.

"Do it."

"Yes."

Sam complied, then he wondered what he was supposed to do. Was he allowed to speak? Feeling a bit intimidated knowing Dean was waiting at the end of the line, he cleared his throat.

"You done?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Now take off your clothes. Keep the underwear."

"Uh…" Sam stammered.

"There a problem?"

"No!" Sam replied quickly.

"Then you lie on your bed, face down, and you wait for me. Understood?"

"Yes."

Sam blew out a soft breath. His fingers trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down. Minutes dragged slowly while he was left alone with himself, waiting his new master's return. He quieted his anxiety by reminding himself that this was his idea; an idea that had taken root after he had discovered an unusual shop on his way back from the Sunny Creek Shopping Mall the day before.

The logo on the storefront had caught his eye. He had smiled, when he has seen the white paw, knowing that the only thing that could brighten his mood would be looking at pups on sale. Upon closer inspection through the window, he had quickly realized that _One Sick Puppy_ was not a pet store.

Curious and intrigued, he had gone back home, and while he was waiting for Dean, he had entered the name of the shop in a search engine and spent a riveting hour exploring an unknown world of punishment and pleasure, control and submission.

Dean had come home late as usual, staggering into their room after spending yet another night unleashing his pent-up rage on unsatisfying surrogates in a fog of liquor. In the morning, Sam had contemplated his brother, passed out, fully clothed, on his bed, looked at his bruised face and scratched fists, and decided that the only way to appease him was to give him permission to lash out at the one person he was really angry with.

More than that, he wanted to place, in his brother's hands, the power to recapture what he had lost, on his terms. The concept might seem radical, but after the things Sam had done recently, the idea of offering himself, without conditions, to the one who had watched over him since he was a small child, didn't seem like the worst idea he ever had.

Filled with a new determination, he had taken the car and driven himself to _One Sick Puppy_. There, a leather clad vixen with bright red lips had welcomed him with a wink and a cheeky, _"Master or slave?"_ He had opened his mouth like a fish and she had interrupted with the confidence of a connoisseur, _"First time? I have the perfect Beginner's Kit for you"_. His cheeks had taken a tint rivaling her lipstick, and when he was back in the safety of the Impala with his shiny new toys, he had raced home like a bank robber in the getaway car.

A dozen hours later, he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just given up control of his life. Sure, he could decide, at any moment, that this little experiment was over before it started, but he wouldn't. He accepted that, from this point on, he no longer owned himself. There was something exhilarating about it. It was as terrifying as it was freeing. Risky, no doubt, but worth it, if it could help him achieve his goal.

His ears perked up when he heard the familiar sound of the '67 Chevy rumbling into the lot. Then, there was the creaking sound of the car door being slammed shut, and shortly after, the door of their room was opened.

* * *

><p>Before Dean had even stepped into the room, he knew Sam had passed the first test because no light was coming through their window. He turned on his bedside lamp and found his brother lying face down, unmoving, and awaiting directions.<p>

He emptied the bag on the bed, at Sam's feet. He had spent the last hour staring it, obsessing over it, going back and forth between imagining scenarios, and scolding himself for even entertaining the idea.

He shed his clothes, only keeping his jeans, and sat next to Sam. He picked the blindfold first, slipped it over Sam's head, noticing how easily his brother was giving in. He had half expected Sam to be in full freak-out mode by now, listing all the reasons why they couldn't possibly go through with this. He never truly believed that the ever-rebellious, 'stop bossing me around' Sam Winchester would willingly subject himself to this kind of control. Obedience had never been Sam's strong suit, and Dean was surprised, and frankly, a little impressed with his brother's commitment.

"Sit," he ordered. "Feet on the floor."

He took the gag, inserted the rubber ball in Sam's mouth, and tied the strap behind his head. Then he put a cuff on each wrist and ankle, locked the collar around his brother's neck, and attached the leash to the front ring.

"Up," he said, pulling on the leash to lead a blind Sam away from the bed.

He tugged on the collar again when he wanted Sam to stop, placed him between the fixed panels separating the bedroom from the living room, and tied the cuffs to the ornate railing with ropes, spreading Sam into a perfect X.

He picked up the leather whip, stood behind Sam, and started swinging the tool in circles, testing it on his arm a couple of times to experience the feel for himself.

The first lash startled Sam. It was gentle, but his body twitched at the unfamiliar stimulation. The strikes that followed were light, careful and unhurried, almost calming, as they streamed down his skin like water. He leaned into them and savored the sweetness, knowing it wouldn't last.

The strength of the blows increased, little by little, and he could feel the pinch every time the flogger landed on his back; nothing too painful, but hard enough to sting, the sensation sharp, like rubber snapping at his skin.

It stopped abruptly, and he was left hanging in the obscurity, with the sound of his labored breathing for company, shivering in the nerve-racking and seemingly neverending wait for the next blow.

The leather slashed through the air and slapped against his skin, and Dean began delivering a series of blows at a regular and steady pace. Muffled cries rose from Sam's throat, as the flogger's tails cascaded down his upper arms, shoulders, and back; but just as he was getting used to the cadence, the master broke the tempo, snapping the whip off-rhythm and alternating the strength and speed of the blows in an unpredictable pattern of harsh and soft that kept Sam dangling over a cliff with nothing to hold on to.

Sam's muscles tensed and his ears strained for the smallest sounds as he tried to anticipate what his master's next move would be, but it was impossible to keep up; useless, and draining. Defeated, he lowered his face between his outstretched arms and let himself fall, letting go of the last vestiges of self-preservation, and trusting his master would be there to catch him.

Sensing his brother's surrender, Dean stepped back to give him a well-deserved break. He admired his handy work, following the crisscross pattern of bruises covering Sam's back with his eyes, fascinated by the physical evidence of his complete domination over him. He trailed the flogger's strands lazily over the marked skin. His little slave-in-training had turned a corner; it was time for a little treat.

Sam shuddered when he felt the leather touch his skin again. This time, it was gliding over his back ―ever so slowly― brushing and sweeping, like a caress. His head lolled to the side, heavy. The feeling was sensual, unlike anything he had felt before. He swallowed a moan and arched his back as the strips tickled the small of his back and traveled up his spine, sliding over one shoulder, ruffling the hair curling at his neck, and stroking the other shoulder. His head rolled back and his hips traced a little circle. If he wasn't wearing a gag, he would have licked his lips. He inhaled deeply when he felt a warm breath next to his ear, and that voice, of gravel and whiskey mixed with sex and honey, murmured in a tone that made his cock jump, "I guess it doesn't hurt enough, huh, bitch. Don't worry, I'm just getting warmed up."

Dean swung the whip over his shoulder and cracked it down his own back to see how far he could go without making the pain unbearable. Gripping the handle tight, he started to administer a severe lashing, striking the naked flesh hard, again, and again, each blow more forceful than the last.

This time, it did hurt. Sam writhed under the unrelenting blows. His hands balled into fists and his toes sank in the carpet as the hot leather set his skin aflame, and the tip of the thin strands dug into his back. It hurt, but somehow, it still felt good, dizzying, and he bit around the rubber ball, moaning in pleasure and pain, as the sensations warring in his body pulled him in opposite directions.

Unable to stop himself, he felt his cock harden as he listened to the words spoken while the blows kept coming.

"You have been a very bad boy, Sam. I don't know what I'm gonna do with you."

Tongues of fire glided over his skin, and Dean swung the whip harder.

"I wish I didn't have to punish you…but it's the only way you'll learn."

Sam started shaking under the biting strikes. His body was one giant nerve and he felt like burning lava was running in his veins. He surrendered completely to the unexpected pleasure of being bound, disciplined, utterly defenseless, and stripped to his soul.

Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and pulled his head back. He studied his brother's face closely to judge the intensity of the sensations he was triggering inside of him. He could tell by Sam's heightened, yet eager response, that he had found the right balance between caution and cruelty, and after maintaining the same punishing beat for a while, he decided to soften his strikes. It was the first time, after all, and Sam had played his part rather well. He snapped the flogger gently over the flushed skin and let go of Sam's locks.

"You're gonna have to prove to me you deserve my trust," he commanded. "Until then, you're my property. You'll eat when I tell you to. You'll sleep when I tell you to. When I sit you down somewhere, you don't get up, when I lock you in the room, you don't get out. If you speak to anyone without my consent, I will punish you." His voice rose. "If you so much as look at anyone, Sam, I swear, you'll regret it."

Sam grunted helplessly. The blend of sensations raging in his body was overpowering, and Dean's possessive words, pouring in his ears like the sweetest nectar, spiced with his authoritative tone he usually hated, but now seemed to turn his knees into Jell-o. He was literally burning on his feet, stretched to the breaking point, his senses assaulted, and his cock throbbing between his legs as tears soaked his blindfold.

He could feel it in every lash. All of it. The resentment, the disappointment, and the pain; but also the love and care he had come so close to losing forever because he had taken them for granted. As the relief and a renewed hope filled his heart, he felt a powerful release wash over him. It felt like expiation, unconditional devotion, and the certainty that he would stop at nothing until he saw his brother smile again. If he could speak, he would have risked more punishment by screaming _I love you, Dean_ at the top of his lungs.

Dean threw the whip off to the side, breathing hotly. It was intoxicating, having so much power over another human being, knowing there would be no one to stop him if he went too far or didn't use that power wisely. He traced the abused skin with the pad of his fingers, making Sam whimper softly.

An unexpected tenderness took hold of him; the feeling that he owned Sam and was responsible for every emotion he felt. He could make him cry, make him bleed, writhe in delight, or beg for mercy. Before everything had gone south, he had always felt Sam was his, his brother, his partner, his responsibility, everything, but even then, he never had the feeling that he owned him, not like he did now.

Sam had faith that he was in safe in his hands. He trusted his lifelong protector to let go of his frustrations without damaging him beyond repair. After his brother had doubted him, to the point of siding with a demon over him, such blind trust was like a healing salve on Dean's wounds.

He moved his hands up the broad back, caressing the red welts forming on the flogged skin.

"You're mine to do with what I please," he observed, as much for himself as he did for Sam.

Sam nodded and leaned, boneless against his master's chest.

"Mmh… what should I do with you, then? Should I leave you here all night? Make you spend the night on the cold bathroom floor…?"

Sam let out a pleading sound. Dean's laughter resonated close to his ear, rich and low, and it did something to Sam's insides.

"Of course, you have no say in the matter."

Dean's hands slid back down, settling at the waistband of Sam's boxer briefs. Sam's breathing shortened. He could have wept, he was so hard.

"But I suppose you did alright."

The hands slid around Sam's waist, causing Sam's dick to fill out some more, if that was possible.

"I didn't expect it would be so easy to tame you. I guess, it's true what they say about hardheads. With a little training, you'll make the perfect little slave boy." He followed the line of Sam's jaw with one finger. "I suppose I can let you sleep in your bed tonight."

He pulled away, leaving Sam shaking with need.

"And when I take the gag off, you'll say, _thank you, Master_."

He proceeded to unbind Sam, starting with the ankle cuffs and the blindfold. He then took the gag off and waited for Sam to say his thanks before uncuffing his wrists and taking off the leash.

"You have five minutes to use the bathroom, then, you go straight to bed. You can close the door. Don't lock it."

* * *

><p>"Yes, Master."<p>

Breathing hard, Sam looked at himself in the mirror. He had a hard time recognizing the lust-blown eyes that reflected back to him.

He turned around and twisted his neck to look at his back. Toward the end, he had felt, for a short while, that the flogger's tails where slicing into his back, but there were no cuts and no blood, only red lines marking his skin all over. His eyelids fluttered close as he relived parts of the exciting ritual that had created them, and he pressed his hand between his legs, hissing softly at the sensation.

All the time, Dean had been behind him and never seen the effect their little session was having on him. Dean... He snapped back into reality. He only had five minutes ―make that four― to take care of his needs and make himself look presentable before going back into the room.

He threw cold water on his face, sprinkled some over his back, and quickly brushed his teeth, trying to concentrate on these mundane acts to forget the ache in his lower belly. He was still hard when he made it out, just under five minutes, but by then, Dean was too busy undressing to check up on him.

After being the focus of such intense attention, Sam felt a little abandoned, but knowing his place, he went to bed quietly. When his brother turned off the lights, his hand started sliding down to his cock. He swiftly pulled it back up. His master had not given him permission to relieve himself. Even if Dean couldn't see him, he wouldn't to disobey. He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his arousal against the mattress, biting the inside of his mouth, and taking slow, deep breaths to cool down.

He raised his fingers to the collar. The moment he had heard the lock click around his neck, he had sensed the change within him. His transformation into his master's pet had started. He had thought it was the sacrifice he was making to prove his love and loyalty. He had never expected it to feel this way; so right and so fulfilling.

In a matter of hours, he had gone from being ostracized to a jealously guarded possession. After struggling with the guilt and hopelessness, he no longer felt alone. They had a long road to travel, but they had taken the first, most important step, and they would figure out the rest together. Sam felt a sudden calm come over him, closed his eyes, and soon fell into a peaceful sleep.

The day after, Dean woke Sam in the morning. He gave him ten minutes to get ready and they went to the nearby diner to get some breakfast. Dean ordered both their meals while Sam sat quietly, never looking or talking to the waitress, as he was not allowed to.

Dean had never taken the collar off, making sure Sam wore the external sign of his master's ownership at all times, as a symbol and reminder of his new status. Everywhere they went, Sam sensed that people were staring at his neck. At first, it made him feel vulnerable, exposed, and somewhat ashamed. He was also afraid that Dean would suddenly decide to throw him to the wolves, leaving him alone in a crowed place, where he would become the object of curiosity, sticking out like a sore thumb, unable to move from the spot he was left in, or to ask people to leave him alone.

But his brother never left his side. He guided his steps; a protective hand pressed against the small of his back, and shielded him from strange looks by menacingly staring down anyone who dared look at his property too long. Sam let himself be led, enjoying the constant caress of Dean's palm on his skin, and quickly felt safe enough to realize he liked being bound to his master for the world to see.

At night, Dean had made him take his clothes off in front of him, piece by piece, and he had walked around Sam, inspecting him as if he was merchandise up for auction, while Sam stood there, blushing under the intense gaze, barely covered by the thin barrier of his boxers.

Dean had then tied Sam up to panels, gagged and blindfolded him, and swung his whip, setting Sam ablaze, playing his body like a finely tuned instrument, and putting him through a roller coaster of emotions before sending him to bed, aroused, trembling, and dying for relief.

_Part III – Fuck Toy_


	4. Ch2 Kisses Of Fire On My Skin P3 Fck Toy

**CHAPTER 2: KISSES OF FIRE ON MY SKIN _(HE HIT ME, AND IT FELT LIKE A KISS)_**

**PART III – FUCK TOY**

**Summary:** Dean discovers Sam likes it.

The whip whistled in the air and crashed heavily on the sensitive skin. It was day three of the sick little game they were playing. This time, Sam was bent over a table, holding himself up on his forearms, his wrists cuffed together in front of him, and his underwear in a ball at his feet as his master explored new territory.

Dean snapped the flogger down across Sam's ass and the back of his thighs a couple of times, sending sharp jolts of pain shooting through his brother's body. He gently dragged the tails across the marked skin, feeling something stir deep inside him at the way they clung to the firm curves.

A warm, tingling sensation spread to Sam's backside. He closed his eyes and clutched the edge of the table to keep his balance.

Dean took a few swipes in the air and landed another round of stinging strikes on the full cheeks in quick succession, watching with growing satisfaction as his slave's skin became tinged with red.

Sam's felt the heat spread to his cock, and when his brother's hands brushed against his over-stimulated flesh, he forgot the rules and opened his mouth to form coherent words.

"Oh God, Dean…"

Dean pulled slightly on the leash, tightening his hold around his slave's neck. Today he had decided to take the gag off because he wanted to hear every whimper, cry, and hitch of breath that would fall from Sam's mouth. The 'no speaking rule' was however, still in effect.

"You do remember you're not allowed to speak unless I address you first."

Sam nodded and bit his lips when a hit landed on his butt in warning. He wiggled his hips and let out a slow moan, unable to control himself.

"You're not supposed to enjoy this," Dean said. "Does it turn you on when I whip you?"

Sam did not answer, too busy cursing himself for forgetting the rules and setting himself up for whatever punishment would follow because of it.

"Answer me!"

"…No," came the breathy whisper.

Dean yanked on Sam's hair, propping him up, so he was forced to lean against Dean's chest.

"You know you get ten hard lashes if you dare lie to me," Dean threatened in his ear.

"I…"

Dean slid the whip under the turgid cock jutting between his brother's legs, using it to lift and weigh the rock hard dick, making it bounce against Sam's stomach.

"And what have we here? Do you jerk off after our little sessions, Sam?"

"No. I... I don't have permission."

"Good, you learn fast. So, what turns you on, huh? Is it the pain? Do you like feeling helpless?"

Sam nodded. It was that and so much more. It was everything; the intimacy, the way Dean could create pain, pleasure, chaos, and peace inside of him with a turn of his wrist, the way he whispered all those things into his ear, the way he couldn't hide the fact that he still cared.

"Speak up, baby boy," Dean said, slowly rocking Sam from side to side.

"Yes." Sam's voice was barely a breath.

"What else?"

"When…when you touch me."

"Like this?" Dean's hands slid over Sam's stomach and the shy whimper that escaped from Sam's throat was all the answer he needed.

"What else? Do you like it when I spank you? Of course you do, you little slut. I could do anything to you right now and you couldn't stop me. You'd probably like it."

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran through Sam at the thought.

"I really am much too lenient with you. If I whipped you hard enough, the way you deserve to be, it wouldn't feel so good."

Dean took off the blindfold, forcing Sam out of the safe darkness he was hiding in.

"What do you want, Sam?"

"You," Sam said in an exhale.

"Speak louder."

"I want you."

"And what do you want me to do to you?"

Dean pushed Sam back down on the table. He let his hands slide down the expanse of Sam's back until he was cupping the tight buttocks.

"Do you want me to touch you… here?" Dean slid a finger between the spread cheeks.

"Ahh…"

Dean pressed his chest down over Sam's back and crooned in his ear, "It's not really part of our arrangement. See, you're supposed to please _me." _He pulled himself up and rubbed his crotch against Sam's ass. "I might be persuaded. What do you offer in return? What are you going to do to earn it?"

"Anything you want."

"I already have you on a leash, Sam. You're gonna have to do better than that."

"I could…" Sam flushed and closed his eyes, grateful Dean was behind him. "I could pleasure you, with my mouth."

"Not so PC, baby boy." Dean smirked. "And turn around and look at me while you say it."

"…I could suck your cock."

Dean looked down at his brother. Sam was simply delicious like this, bent over that table, spread open for him, his face fiery red as he tried to hold Dean's gaze, looking like a sweet lamb ready for sacrifice. His cock filled with blood as he imagined those soft pink lips stretched around him.

"I could have you do that anyway…" His voice was low with desire.

He ran his fingers through the back of Sam's head and stroked his hair, applying enough pressure that Sam couldn't look away if he tried.

"…but I always had a weakness for you, so I'll do it."

He let go of Sam's hair and ordered, "On your knees."

He pulled on the leash, making Sam crawl to him while he walked backwards until he was pressed against the wall. He untied his brother's wrists, tied them again behind Sam's back so Sam wouldn't be able to touch him with his hands, and he unbuttoned his jeans.

Sam waited, devouring his brother with his eyes, while he pulled his boxers down. For years, he had pushed those fantasies away, labeling them as wrong and sick, but now that he was handcuffed, collared, and with no other purpose than to serve Dean, he felt free to give into them without guilt.

His brother's pulsing length brushed along his right cheek and he rubbed against it, feeling the silky heat move against his skin, filling his nostrils with the intoxicating scent. He extended his tongue and tried to lick the head. Dean teased him by moving it out of reach several times, making him work for it. He finally managed to close his lips around it and started sucking on it slowly, his tongue gliding on the underside as he looked up at Dean.

He placed a couple of wet kisses on the tip and swallowed Dean's cock again, this time pushing past the corona to twirl his lips around the shaft. He slid his mouth back and forth until he managed to lodge the tip of the cock in his throat, pulled back, and let out a small cough. Dean caressed his hair, infinitely turned on by the sight of his teary eyes and spit-shiny lips.

"Easy, baby boy."

Sam took a few breaths and started again, his wet lips gliding effortlessly around the shaft, back and forth, and swallowing Dean as deep as he could without choking himself. After a while, he pulled away and flicked his tongue up and down the slit to get his master's attention.

When hazy green eyes finally focused on him, he stuck his tongue out, inviting Dean in, and giving him full control. Dean curled a hand around Sam's head. He pushed his cock in and pulled Sam's head backwards, watching the tip almost slip out of his brother's mouth before pushing Sam down on him again.

"Fuck, Sam."

He moved his hips, sliding his cock over Sam's tongue as he pushed it in and out of his brother's wet cavity. He started slow, and gradually increased the speed, pumping in and out of Sam's mouth and watching his brother slurp around him noisily until he couldn't take it anymore.

With a groan, he pushed himself back and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked down at his brother, who was sitting back on his heels patiently waiting for the verdict, and panted, "You did so good. Better be the first time, too."

Sam nodded with a little smile, happy to please and got on his feet when Dean pulled on the leash again. Dean grabbed his bottle of lube, threw a pillow over the table, and pushed Sam down on it. He slicked his hand and inserted the tip of one finger inside Sam, plunging deeper when Sam started rocking his hips back. He moved in small circles, exploring the silky heat, and opening his brother up until he was able to slip a second finger, then a third. He spread them slightly to further push the tight walls apart, withdrew his hand, and pressed his swollen knob against the puckered entrance.

Sam's body shook with anticipation. He felt Dean push against the rim of his hole, careful and gentle, as he made his way into the narrow tunnel, and squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp when his cock bottomed out inside him, his inner muscles instinctively contracting around the thick member.

Feeling the tension in his brother's body, Dean took a moment to massage the base of his spine, and then he slid his hands down the firm globes and spread them apart with his thumbs.

"Let go, babe," he asked softly.

Sam's face burned when he felt a finger brush the outline of his painfully stretched hole and he complied. Dean waited for the newly deflowered ring to loosen around him and he started moving inside the snug walls in gentle, slow strokes. His cock slid wetly, in and out of Sam's ass, and his eyes travelled up to the bound hands that symbolized his brother's submission.

He felt a primitive urge to brand every inch of Sam's body and soul until he had ruined him for anyone else. Driven by desire, as much as possessiveness, he gripped his brother's shoulders and rammed into him, so hard Sam yelped, his body jerking under the assault.

Sam's fingers curled behind his back and he sank deeper into the pillow. His brother was moving so deep inside of him, he could almost feel him in his throat. He had imagined this day in secret, countless times, never really believing it would come, and his wildest dreams paled in comparison to a reality only made more intense by his complete and utter helplessness. He gave himself without reserve and let his brother use his body as he pleased, soft moans of pleasure escaping his open mouth with every thrust.

Dean moved a hand down Sam's spine. He grazed his fingernails between his brother's shoulder blades and slammed into the warm sheath. "You feel so good, Sam," he said, his voice thick with lust.

He grabbed a handful of dark hair, forcing Sam to arch his back, and took him for a rough ride. He built up the speed of his thrusts and all Sam could do was grit his teeth to keep the shameless words and desperate pleas that rose to the tip of his tongue down. He couldn't get enough, but he dared not say it out loud for fear that Dean would stop as punishment.

The sound of their flesh slapping together at a maddening pace filled the air as Dean pounded into him as fast and deep as he could until he could no longer hold back.

"Want me to fill you up, baby?" he asked. "Beg for it."

"Please, come inside me," Sam moaned, shoving his ass back against his brother's stiff cock.

It was all Dean needed, and he threw his head back with a grunt, coming in long, wrenching spurts while Sam pulsed around him. Feeling a little wobbly once it was over, Dean put one hand on the table to steady himself and gently pulled himself out.

"Well, baby brother," he panted, palming Sam's ass. "If I'd known it was going to be like this, I would have done it sooner."

He stroked Sam's inner thighs with sadistic slowness, overlooking the swollen member that was throbbing between them. Sam rubbed against him with a pleading moan, but just as the master could be kind, he knew how to be cruel.

"Never said I'd make you come, Sam. You are here to serve me, not the opposite, remember?"

Sam bit his lips so hard he tasted blood. His balls were aching, and the skin around his dick too tight. He feared that he might actually explode after two days of unreleased arousal and the best fuck of his life if his master didn't show mercy.

Dean had other ideas. He uncuffed his brother, pulled him by the leash, and made him sit in his designated spot between the metal dividers. He tied Sam's ankles to the panels, leaving him spread out with his legs up, then he grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom.

Sam was close to tears. He knew it was another test. His hands were freed, but he still didn't have the authorization to use them. For the first time since their little experiment had started, he seriously struggled with the temptation to break the rules. He didn't want to disobey, but he felt like he was going to lose his mind.

"_Come on, Sam, you can do this." _

There was too much riding on it; and it was _his_ idea, his plan, to show Dean he loved him enough to put himself through it, all of it, and he wouldn't fail, not this time. He stared at the water stained ceiling and tried to block out the sensations that made the whole thing even more challenging; but he could still feel Dean's heat on his skin, burning him everywhere he touched, his hardness inside of him…

He listened to the sounds coming from the other room: Dean having a brief conversation on the phone; Dean taking a shower; Dean humming while he took his shower. He wondered how long his brother was going to leave him there and counted the minutes to pass the time.

_Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…_ Nine minutes and twelve seconds after he had started counting, the door opened.

Dean walked toward Sam, his gaze fixed on the body stretched out before him as he sat on the bed. Sam squirmed under the careful and silent examination, thought of covering himself, but kept his hands clenched into fists against his chest.

Dean's eyes lingered over the shiny cockhead dripping a steady stream of precome down Sam's shaft. He finally spoke. "Did you touch yourself?"

Tears slithered down Sam's temples. "No."

Dean couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction that came over him. He knew his brother was in pain, and what was a little 'tug n' stroke' behind the master's back? But Sam had resisted, for him. All he needed was to look into his eyes and know he was telling the truth, and it surprised him to see how much it mattered.

He got up and kneeled between Sam's legs.

"Why didn't you?" he asked, knowing why, but still wanting to hear it.

"You never told me I could."

_Good answer. _"Slide your hand down," he said. "Slowly. Wrap it around your cock." He watched Sam do as he asked and heard him moan when his fingers finally reached the heavy, aching length.

"How does that feel?"

Sam's voice was but a quiver. "Good."

"Move your hand, up and down, slowly."

Sam's moans got louder.

"Look at me."

The hazel eyes opened.

Dean watched his brother jerk off. He guided his movements, telling him how slow or fast he could go, took him to the precipice of orgasm, and then ordered him to stop, leaving Sam pleading, and desperate.

"Please…" Sam sobbed.

He was spread open, achingly stiff, leaking like a faucet, and forced to beg for relief, but he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to come.

Dean ran his hands under the long curve of the sculpted calves, all the way down to the inside of his brother's thighs. He had never seen Sam look so vulnerable, so beautiful.

"My little slave…"

No one had ever made him come as hard as Sam had, and he was going to return the favor. He leaned over and asked, "Tell me who you belong to, Sam?"

Sam looked up at the handsome face leaning over him. Dean's hair was still damp, and his skin smelled like clean soap, big brother, and safety. He closed his eyes and wondered if anyone had ever died from orgasm denial, or from being so stupidly, recklessly in love that their heart just stopped at the sight of the one they loved.

"You. Only you," he managed to answer.

"Now, baby. Come for me."

Sam's fist flew over his cock. Fire shot through him and his hips surged forward, limbs tensing like bows, as he was catapulted into a crashing orgasm. He cried out and ejaculated all over himself, thick gobs of come splashing over his abdomen, chest and chin.

Dean watched his baby brother crumble to the floor, shivering. Sam looked close to passing out, but his body was still twitching. His hips bucked through the last spasms and Dean's come started dribbling out his of well fucked hole. He leaned down, swiped his tongue over the glass-hard nipples, feeling Sam quake under his touch, then he placed gentle kisses on the stressed little buds and started untying his brother.

Sam slowly came back to life as the throbbing lessened and convulsions waned. He struggled to pull himself up and whimpered when he failed.

"Shh. It's okay, come here." Dean gathered him in his arms, effortlessly picked him off the floor, and carried him to the bed.

Sam clung to his shoulders and kissed his neck, refusing to let go when Dean tried to put him to bed.

"Get some rest, okay?" he said.

Sam nodded obediently. "Thank you, Master."

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Dean went to pay for the stir-fried veggies and spring rolls he had ordered while he was in the bathroom.

"Be back before nighttime," he said to a drowsy Sam. "You know the rules."

Sam lifted himself on his elbow and nodded. He was free to do what he wanted, except talk with anyone who wasn't Bobby or Cas, and he could not leave the room. He watched his brother walk out the door and let himself fall back on the bed with a low, sensuous moan. The second rule was not going to be an issue. He was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to walk straight for a while.

_**Chapter 3: Mixed Feelings**_


	5. Ch 3 Mixed Feelings

**CHAPTER 3: MIXED FEELINGS**

_I keep letting you back in_

_How can I explain myself  
>As painful as this thing has been<br>I just can't be with no one else _

Lauryn Hill – X-Factor

"We won't be needing these."

Sam blushed when the waitress glanced at him. As usual, he had his eyes down but he could always tell when people were looking at him.

"Oh, and bring me a straw, would you, sweetheart?" Dean added.

"Sure thing, hon."

They were in a mom and pop's restaurant, thirty minutes away from their neighborhood. When Dean had come back to the motel just before evening, Sam was hungry and secretly hoping to get out after spending the whole day between four walls. Dean had taken him to the _Bus Stop_, chosen the booth furthest from the entrance to isolate them from the rest of the patrons, and pushed Sam into the corner seat.

They usually sat face to face, and when Dean had sat next to him, their backs turned to everyone, Sam had known his master had a new game in mind. It was in the details, the many ways in which Dean showed Sam and the rest of the world that he owned him; and tonight, the little twist was that Sam didn't get to use cutlery. In exchange, he got a menu for the first time and Dean let him pick what he wanted.

Sam had no problem with the meals his brother had chosen for him so far, but he knew a reward when he saw one and he was proud that his master was pleased with him. He got a little concerned when his knife and fork got confiscated, but didn't asked questions.

He found he liked to be kept guessing and in a state he could only describe as constant apprehension of what was to come, mixed with excitement and arousal. At the end of the day, he knew that he would be protected and taken care of, and that any humiliation he would have to suffer would only further endear him to his master.

The waitress brought the straw and Dean put it in his Sam's glass. Sam bit the inside of his mouth, wondering what was in store for him. Was he going to be forced to pick his food with his mouth, his hands tied behind his back? His brother interrupted his thoughts before he had the chance to indulge in a moment of silent panic.

"Sam?"

Sam looked at Dean and the images from the last game they had played flashed before his eyes. He turned his gaze elsewhere. "Yes?"

"I want you to think of something. Something you'd like."

Sam tilted his head and Dean explained.

"Someplace you'd like to go, something you'd like to do, with me."

Sam gave a little smile. Any indication that he was succeeding in his task to keep his master satisfied made him happy, and he didn't need a second to think about Dean's question. Before he could give his answer, the waitress arrived with their food.

"Here's for you..."

She pushed a plate of grilled chicken salad in front of him. He didn't look up or say thank you. It seemed rude, and in the beginning, he found it difficult, but his desire to please Dean was stronger, and it had quickly silenced his misgivings.

"And here's for you."

She placed a smoking plate of crispy pork chops and fries in front of Dean. He thanked her and waited for her to leave before pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and placing them around Sam wrists.

Sam watched his brother eat his meal and drink his beer from the corner of his eyes. He didn't mind that he was hungry. He liked looking at him, and he would patiently wait his orders. He didn't have to wait too long. Dean turned toward him, dug his fork into his salad and raised it to Sam's lips. Sam opened his mouth, surprised.

He had time to get used to the idea that he might to have to eat like a dog, out of its bowl, if he didn't want to starve, get extra lashes, or both. At no point had it occurred to him that such a pleasurable option would be made available. He chewed around a smile and opened his mouth to bite into the forkful of chicken and tomato that followed.

"Don't look so shocked," Dean teased with a grin. "The rules are simple. You break 'em, you get in trouble; you're a good boy, you get rewards. There."

Sam shifted in his seat as he took another bite. He had no idea why this made his pants tighter. He was discovering a whole new side of himself under his master's dexterous guidance. The side of him that didn't always feel the need to fight, and got off on being dominated, babied, and showered with attention.

"Drink."

Sam closed his lips around the straw as his brother raised the glass to him. The sweet taste of cold soda filled his mouth and Dean pulled the glass away to let him swallow.

"More?"

Sam nodded and sucked the cool liquid up with barely disguised pleasure. At this moment, he didn't really care if the choker never came off.

"So." Dean put the glass back on the table. "What do you want?"

"Kiss me."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Or, I can kiss you."

"No." The reply was abrupt. "Pick something else."

Sam was startled by the brutal change in demeanor. Dean's tone was harsh, and he looked angry.

"I…I don't want anything else."

"I said no."

"Please." Sam knew he was pushing, but he couldn't just let it go. He had always imagined that his first time with his brother would at least include one measly little kiss. It wasn't too much to ask, was it? Maybe Dean just needed a little convincing? He let himself slide under the table, kneeled between Dean's legs, and tried to snap his jeans open with his cuffed hands.

"Sam, if you don't want me to pull your pants down and spank you in front of the whole restaurant, I suggest you come back up and sit down right now."

It would be his most humiliating lesson yet, especially given the fact that he was no longer allowed to wear underwear, but the fear of being reprimanded publicly was not Sam's motivation to obey. He just didn't want to do anything to disappoint Dean, especially after what they had shared earlier in their motel room.

He pulled himself up, sat down, and let the immensity of what he had lost hit him. Sure, he had never been kissed by Dean before, but after everything else that they had done, the only reason his brother refused to go there was because he was still angry at him. They were making progress, no denying that, but Dean's brutal rejection reminded him how careless he had once been with his brother's love, and told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't close to being forgiven.

"I'm sorry, Master."

Dean nodded coldly and went back to munching on his fries. He was afraid of all those feelings that were rushing back, of how quickly Sam had been able to crack the armor which he had to rebuild around himself to shield the scattered pieces of his heart.

The game they were playing was a double-edged sword. It granted him all the satisfaction he never thought he would have by providing him with the perfect outlet for his frustrations; but it had also transformed their relationship in a matter of days, and reconnected them in ways he hadn't expected and wasn't ready for.

When he was determined in his anger, he had gotten out of this strange habit of never being able to say no to Sam. The realization that, once again, he couldn't stand to see his brother unhappy annoyed him. He didn't want to open himself up and give Sam the chance to break him all over again.

"Eat." He raised the fork to Sam's mouth and tried to ignore the anguish in his brother's eyes.

Sam shook his head. "Thank you. I'm full," he said meekly, looking every bit the kicked puppy.

Dean dropped the fork with impatience, making it ring loudly as it fell on the plate. Sam didn't get to play that card; he didn't get to act all hurt, like Dean was the one at fault here. He didn't get make him feel like he was doing something wrong.

"I'm sorry." Sam scrambled. After all the ground he had gained, he was messing up again. He didn't want to go back to square one. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I'll do whatever you want."

Dean studied his brother's face. He knew Sam, and he had grown well acquainted with that other version of him whose words could not be trusted. There was no trace of him there. Just the little brother he adored, unsure, confused, and a little sad that he had managed to incur Dean's wrath simply by asking for the treat he had earned after being an exemplary student and dutiful slave.

He sighed, pulled Sam close, and pressed his lips against his. It was gentle, warm, and way more pleasurable than any kiss that didn't involve tongue had the right to be. He pulled back from the kiss and stabbed his fork into the chicken salad, watching Sam blink lazily, as if he was waking from a dream. His brother's appetite might not compare to his, but he didn't believe for a second the boy was full. He raised the food to Sam's lips.

"Let's try this again."

Sam complied without hesitation, a bright smile on his face, and Dean had to roll his eyes to keep from responding to it.

"Is everything to your liking? Oh!."

Sam froze around the mouthful of salad as the waitress stood there staring at them. Dean pushed the food deeper into his mouth to force him to chew and answered in a relaxed tone, never taking his eyes off Sam, "We're fine, thanks. We'll take two blueberry pies to go. You can leave 'em at the counter… That'll be all."

"Su…sure," she stuttered, understanding she was dismissed.

Smiling at the relief on his brother's face, Dean picked up the soft drink and pushed the straw between Sam's lips.

They finished their meal with no more interruptions. When Dean uncuffed his brother's wrists, signaling the end of the session, Sam whispered, "Thank you, Master," and followed him to the car.

He sat quietly while Dean drove, but kept stealing glances until Dean asked, "Got something to say? Speak."

Sam opened his mouth. He wanted to say how much that kiss had made him happy. That he would kill to be able to feel Dean's arms around him, just for a minute. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to say, _I love you_, but he couldn't get any of it out. He was afraid if he pushed too hard, too soon, Dean would clam up again and they would be back where they started. He knew how serious their issues were, and he didn't want to give Dean the impression that he thought they were out of the woods just because he was being nice.

"Just, thank you," he said, settling for the safest alternative without having to lie.

Dean looked at Sam and nodded, not saying a word, even when he dropped Sam off in front of their motel. He wanted some time alone, away from Sam. He felt his emotions were getting jumbled again and he needed some distance. He drove around, looking for the trashiest bar he could find, hoping some booze and an easy lay, or two, would help scrub Sam's scent off his body.

The _Spread Eagle_ was as trashy as they came. Dirty floors, sticky tables, and questionable-looking characters gathered around the pool tables, leering at gum-snapping waitresses who had to dodge greasy palms aiming for their backsides at every dark corner.

After fending off the sure thing who had asked him point blank if he wanted to show her the backseat of his "awesome car", and politely excusing himself from the already drunk chick who seemed willing to offer way too much in exchange for one more drink, he spent his time at the bar, alone, missing Sam and wondering what his brother was doing.

"You're pathetic," he told himself when he got back inside the Impala. His escape to the saddest dive in town had done nothing to give him some perspective. It wasn't a complete waste, he was two hundred forty five dollars richer, but still confused as ever. He wanted to stop needing Sam, to stop caring so much, but every day since they had started playing captive and jailer had only made the feelings he was trying to ignore more obvious.

He parked the car in front of their room and walked to their door. Sam had betrayed him in the worst way, and after everything the little son of a bitch had done, Dean still had him under his skin and he was tired of it. What was it going to take to break the hold his little brother had over him?

He swung the door open, looking for a fight, when he remembered that Sam didn't talk back these days, so he went straight for the whip, ready to unleash the fury of a thousand fires on his brother's back. Maybe then, Sam would break. He would yell that Dean was sick, that he hated him and didn't want to do this anymore. It would destroy whatever was left between them for good and he could finally send Sam packing, protecting himself from the inevitable heartbreak that awaited him down the road if he let himself fall again.

He stopped pacing when the bathroom door opened. Sam came out, dripping wet, and wearing only a small towel and he almost barked at him to put some fucking clothes on.

"Dean, you're back."

A smile bloomed across Sam's face. He had spent every minute alone missing his brother, hoping he would come back soon, and he was so happy to see him he forgot he wasn't supposed to speak. He moved toward him but quickly startled back with a tiny gasp.

He looked down and shuddered, feeling that ice surround him again. Then he remembered his role, dropped his towel and placed himself between the metal panels, waiting for the cuffs and ropes. It was going to hurt like it never had. He could tell by the almost hateful look in Dean's eyes and the way his brother jerked the whip on the side of his knee.

He wondered what he had done this time. He wanted to talk to Dean, try to make things better, but he also didn't want to make them worse by defying the rules again, so he waited, afraid for himself in a way he never had been in his brother's presence.

Dean's hand shook around the braided handle. One look. One goddamn look at that angelic face, smiling at him with what felt like all the love in the world, like he hadn't seen Dean in too long, and he could already feel the rage drain out of him.

He threw the whip against the wall with so much violence that Sam jumped as if it had hit him. He was weak, always had been when it came to Sam, and trying to beat him to a pulp wasn't going to change that fact. He let out a long, defeated sigh. Even crawling on his knees with a leash around his neck, Sam remained the master of his soul.

"Go to bed, Sam." he said tiredly, turning away from the naked body shivering feet away from him.

Sam nodded and slipped under his covers before Dean could change his mind. He let the tears pour quietly, at a loss about what to do. He had never seen Dean look at him like that, with something that looked so much like hate; not the first time he had seen Sam suck on demon blood, not when Sam had walked out of that hotel room without him after the worst fight of their lives, not even when he had learned that his little brother's eyes had gone demon black while he burned the life out of Lilith.

He felt his insides shredding, and when he realized his sobs where filling the air, it was already too late. He tried to them bite them back, but the pain was too strong, so he just let them out, not caring if Dean decided he wanted to use that whip after all. Nothing could hurt more than the look on his brother's face, telling him he had given up on trying to save them, and given up on Sam.

Lying on his back, Dean pressed his forearm over his eyes with a groan. His brother's cries shouldn't have bothered him. Let the little shit cry him a river, wasn't that his plan when he had walked into the room? But he couldn't stand it. No matter how pissed he still was, he couldn't stand it.

"Sam, come here."

Sam wiped his eyes and got out of bed to receive his punishment. He was astounded when Dean pulled his covers up to invite him in. He hesitated a few seconds and joined him without a word. There, he let his brother move him around until he was lying on his side with Dean pressed flush against his back. His eyes welled up again when a strong, protective arm curled around his chest.

"Sh… Baby, it's okay. I'm sorry I scared you."

Sam let out a deep sigh of relief, finally understanding what was going on. _I love you, I love you. You don't have to be afraid, I won't let you down again. Please believe me, _he wanted to say, but he knew it wasn't the right time. He cautiously placed his own hand around Dean's and raised it to his lips, closing his eyes as he pressed his mouth on his brother's fingers. He would convince Dean he could trust Sam with his heart if it was the last thing he did.

_**Chapter 4: Slave For Your Love**_


	6. Chapter 4 Slave For Your Love P1 SP

**CHAPTER 4: SLAVE FOR YOUR LOVE**

**Summary:** The boys play some more, then have a long overdue talk

**PART I – SICK PUPPIES**

"Bend over."

Day four of their experimental therapy for confused, tangled up, and codependent siblings, Winchester-style. After spending the night in each other's arms, they had woken up feeling calmer and easily fallen back into their… routine.

Sam leaned over the table. His eyes widened and his limbs stiffened when Dean's palm landed a first smack on his ass.

After the incident from the night before, Dean had decided to leave the whip alone for a while and replace it with his hands; and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He smacked the left butt cheek playfully, swatted the right one, then both, leaving faint red prints everywhere he touched.

Sam could feel his skin ignite under his brother's hand. He gasped when Dean began to spank him harder, landing a series of fast slaps on his butt. His body finally loosened when Dean started rubbing his palm gently over the raw skin.

"Let's see if we can make that tight ass jiggle," Dean said after a while, half teasing and half threatening, cutting his brother's relief short.

He struck hard, the crack of his hand against Sam's flesh sharp in the room. Sam twisted, feeling the sting, but Dean forced him still while he landed one heavy smack after the other, watching the muscles twitch every time he hit a little too hard.

Sam's eyes filled with tears and he cried out as Dean brought down a rain of fire onto his backside. His skin was vibrating with his master's name and his ass burned with each blow. His legs trembled, his knees threatening to give out at any moment, and by the time his brother had decided Sam had had enough, he could barely feel the floor under his feet.

Dean dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to the crimsoning flesh, kissing the bruises better. He burrowed his face between Sam's thighs, gripped his butt cheeks, and flicked his tongue over the small opening. Sam's fingernails scratched the table. Little noises of pleasure fell from his mouth and his hips moved on their own, pushing him backwards to meet the wet muscle that was stretching him open.

Dean dug his tongue as far as he could. He twirled it around, gliding it against the soft walls before pulling out to suck and lick the tiny orifice, eating Sam like a juicy piece of fruit. He reached lower and rubbed his fingers over the tip of Sam's erection. "So wet, already," he teased. "Is that for me?" he asked, fisting the hard length while he planted a loud kiss on Sam's backside.

Sam reached behind and spread himself open in reply. Dean didn't waste a minute. He slathered the exposed cleft with an abundance of lube and pressed himself against it. He penetrated Sam slowly, letting his fingers trace the muscles of his brother's shoulders, back, and abs while he gave Sam a moment to adjust. Then he leaned over Sam, slid his palms up Sam's chest and nibbled on his neck as he started pumping in and out of him.

Sam thrust back to meet every stroke. He could feel the heat stirring between them as they moved. The table was groaning under their weight and Sam couldn't stop writhing while Dean pinched his nipples and drove his pole deep and hard inside of him, bringing them close to the ultimate reward.

Dean pulled out before Sam could reach the peak. He walked to the other side of the table, threaded his fingers through the thick brown locks, and moved Sam's head closer to his crotch while he jerked his cock. Sam opened his mouth. He let his brother's seed slide over his tongue and swallowed every drop, even licking the taste of Dean off his lips when he was done.

Dean looked down at the irresistible creature stretched over the table with awe. He dragged his thumb over the talented lips, resisting the temptation to lean down to give Sam a deep, long kiss, and he tugged at the collar ring. He had decided he didn't need any other toy today, including the leash, so instead of leading Sam around like he usually did, he simply told him to kneel in the corner, facing the wall with his hands behind his back.

He left him there to go get dressed, and when he was ready to go, he stood behind Sam and slid his hand under his chin to make him look up. Sam leaned against his legs and waited his orders.

"I'm going out," Dean announced. "You don't move until I call you."

"Yes, Master."

Sam stayed where he was, listening to the sounds of his brother leaving the motel, the sounds of the world outside, and staring at the faded wallpaper patterns to distract himself from the ache between his legs as minutes slowly ticked by.

* * *

><p>His knees were sore and his legs almost numb when the phone rang.<p>

"Have you been a good boy?" Dean asked as soon as Sam picked up.

Sam looked at his neglected shaft, feeling the precum sliding freely down the underside. He swallowed a groan when the throbbing knot tightened in his lower belly. He wasn't sure what Dean planned to do with him, but he couldn't wait to get started. "Yes."

"Go to your bed then, and lie down."

"Yes."

"Spread your legs. Let your hand slide down. Slowly."

"Yes."

"Stop before you reach your cock."

Sam closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"I want you to finger yourself. Start by touching it."

Sucking his breath in, Sam lifted his hips slightly and slid his middle finger between his ass cheeks. He pressed the tip against the puffy rim of his well-used entrance and let out a moan.

"How is it?"

"Wet," Sam whispered, face red, feeling like a dirty little slut, and too turned on to mind. He bit his lip and added shyly, "Still stretched open from your cock."

Dean's hand moved down to his crotch. He hadn't planned on getting into the action again himself, but the way Sam responded to him, eager to play despite the hesitation that was evident in his voice when he uttered those dirty words —he could almost see the blood staining his little brother's cheeks— it was too much to resist.

"Stroke it," he ordered, his voice low and hoarse.

Sam rubbed his finger up and down and around the swollen rim, his hips rolling as he writhed on the mattress.

"Slip your finger in."

Sam pushed his finger in easily and licked his lips from sheer bliss.

"Another."

"Yes."

"Do you like it when I'm inside you?"

Sam's breath grew labored. "Yeah."

"Move your fingers."

"Oh, God."

Sam did as he was told, fucking himself with his fingers. It felt good, nowhere as good as when Dean did it, but with his eyes closed and Dean's voice in his ear, it was the next best thing.

Dean listened to him moan on the other end of the line, picturing him open wide, fucking himself on the motel bed. He pumped his fist up and down his dick.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"Feels good," Sam answered.." Wish it was you."

"Imagine I'm inside you, filling your tight little fuckhole with my dick."

Sam's head thrashed on the pillow; he panted into the phone. His fingers moved a little faster.

"I'm fucking that tight little ass of yours, and you feel so hot, baby boy. So good and I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come inside you so hard and fill you with so much cum you'll be leaking for days."

"Uh! Dean!" Sam's hand moved faster, thrusting roughly in and out. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the way they did when Dean was slamming into him.

"Pull your fingers out and jerk your cock."

Dean listened to the desperate moans, making up the sounds he couldn't detect from afar, the wet sounds of precum and lube-slicked fingers flying over Sam's shaft. He heard his name, at first a whisper, then louder, until it was a scream that made him explode.

On the other end, Sam climaxed with a shuddering moan, imagining Dean shooting his full load in his ass like the day before, but this time, he was allowed to come with him.

They stayed on the phone, not saying a word, as they tried to recover their breath.

"Feel better?" Dean asked after a while.

Sam smiled. His master liked to toy with his slave before allowing him his pleasure, but when he did…

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Master."

"Good boy. I'll be home soon."

Dean tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat and wiped himself off before zipping his pants. He blew out loudly and let his head fall backwards. Next time Sam was putting on this little show, he would be right there in the room with him, watching every move.

_Part II – Wounded Warriors_


	7. Chapter 4 Slave For Your Love P2 WW

**CHAPTER 4: SLAVE FOR YOUR LOVE**

**PART II – WOUNDED WARRIORS**

Sam looked up from the book, _Christian Mythology_ _III: The Serpent_, in which he had been immersed in for the past three hours. His heart started racing when he caught his brother looking at him, but his smile faded when Dean looked away. He closed the tattered book and scratched anxiously at the textured leather cover.

He knew it was coming, and as much as he was dreading it, he needed it to happen. They both did. His whole plan had been about getting them to this part. The intense intimacy of the last days might have brought them to a closeness that went far beyond what either had expected, but they would remain distant in all the ways that mattered as long as they didn't face the issues that were poisoning their relationship head on.

He wasn't sure if it was too soon or just the right time. It didn't matter. The floodgates were about to burst open. Dean might try to deny it, but Sam couldn't ignore the tell-tale signs. It was nothing obvious. They had shared lunch in their motel room, which never happened anymore, and Dean had even stayed with him while they did research, squinting at the scans of ancient texts about the origins and history of the Devil. But just like Sam was able to feel his brother's presence when Dean entered a room, he could sense his restlessness, his exasperation, or like now, his disenchantment, as he mulled over all those things they had never really talked about.

"_Soon as she's dead, we can talk all you want. The demon bitch is a deal breaker; you kiss her goodbye, we can go right now."_

He could see it, as if it was yesterday. Hear it, clear as day. The despair in Dean's eyes, in his voice; he still had a hard time believing the way things had ended after his brother had come for him, trying to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life, pull him from Ruby's claws before it was too late.

He had been the one lying, sneaking around, letting a demon squatting a freshly vacated body lead him by the nose, yet in a Hell blood-filled confusion, he had allowed cruel, belittling, and undeserved words that could never be taken back fly out of his mouth. _"You're weak". "You're holding me back". "You're too busy sittin' around feeling sorry for yourself, whining about the souls you tortured in Hell; boo hoo."_

He could try to blame it all on the spell, but they both knew that although the siren had made them bloodthirsty, it had never put words in their mouths, just removed the filters and inhibitions to reveal their inner truths. And there was no external force at work when he had thrown, _"__Sure, Dean, let's trade stories. How was Hell? Don't spare the details," _like it was nothing.

He had meant the words, all of them, but at the time, he was also tripping on demon steroids and his powers were slowly turning him, the way they had other psychic kids before him. They made him feel nearly invincible, corrupted him just as much as the demon blood was clouding his judgment, and by the time the effects of both had started to worry him, he was trapped and hopelessly addicted to them.

In his right mind, he never would have made light of the horrors Dean had experienced in Hell and used his most shameful secret to tear him down. His joy at seeing his brother rise from the pit would not have been sullied by the underlying resentment he felt every time he was forced to hide his extracurricular activities and justify, over and over, what he was doing with the demon chick in the dark.

He glanced at his brother, worried by the resignation on his face. The lies, the insults, Ruby… How was he going to make Dean believe that he still loved him then, but wasn't fully himself because of a poison he had first started drinking to avenge Dean's death?

Sam's fingers trembled as they brushed against the chocker. He was scared, but he had a lot to fight for, and he wasn't going to do any of it by sitting on his ass waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He walked to the couch where Dean was sitting, taking a break from the blurry scans to stare at the wall. He kneeled between Dean's legs and waited for his brother to acknowledge his presence. Dean just kept staring into nothingness, the slight twitch of his jaw the only indication that he knew Sam was there. Sam curled his palm around his brother calf. The touch had the desired effect and Dean looked down. Sam reached for Dean's hand but Dean pulled away.

"I'm not in the mood, Sam. Maybe later," he said, thinking Sam wanted to play.

Sam slid his hands up Dean's arms and around his neck and tried to kiss him. Dean pulled back, pushing Sam away.

"You're really trying to get yourself punished, aren't you?"

"Let it out. Just let it out. Let me have it." Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and rested his head on his stomach.

Dean brushed his brother's hair. As much as he knew they needed to do this, he didn't want to. Not now. He could feel something burning in his eyes and knew that having this little drama, when he could barely hold himself together, would only end badly. He made a motion to get up.

"I need to clear my head," he tried.

Sam held tight. "No. Whatever you got, I can take it." He pulled up, framed Dean's face in his hands and gave him a gentle kiss. Then he looked into his eyes, waiting for him to find the words, letting him know he wasn't going anywhere.

Dean closed his hands around Sam's wrists and let his eyelids fall shut. "Sometimes, I look at you, and I wonder who you really are," he started. "The little brother I thought I knew or that guy who just wanted me out of his way."

He still wasn't sure that the other Sam, the one who told it like it was and made it hurt, the one who didn't always care and had little patience for the failings of mere mortals —Dean—, wasn't simply the one who had the guts to tell the truth about how Sam really felt about Dean all along.

Sam tightened his lips as the words cut into his flesh like swords. He wasn't going to interrupt, no matter how much it hurt. There was a lot more where that came from, and he was going to see this through.

"Why?" Dean opened his eyes and pushed the hands off his face. "You knew I would rather to go to Hell than have you use your powers. You promised me you would honor my "dying wish", yet you somehow let _her_ talk you into it."

"My intentions were good. At first, I wanted to make Lilith pay for what she did to you. It drove me crazy to know that she was walking around while you were rotting in Hell. After you came back, I still wanted to stop her, but from breaking the seals this time. I thought, if I could just take her out, it would solve all our problems; stop the apocalypse and cut the head of the snake that was creating so much of the evil that had taken over our lives. I felt I had to become stronger, so I could shoulder the weight for once. I thought I was looking out for you, but you just couldn't see it. "

"Sam, my beef isn't about the seals or the apocalypse. I had a part in that, _I _started it. Demons had a part in that. Heck, freaking archangels had this planed since the beginning of time, and they used us like pawns to make it happen. What I don't understand is why you latched on to her?"

"I thought I was using her. She was going to help me get to where I needed to be, to take down Lil-"

"That's not what I mean, Sam. There was more to your…" Dean cringed, refusing to call it a 'relationship', "…whatever you had going with your pet demon― then her coaching you for your death match with Lilith."

Sam looked down. "I know, I let it go too far. I wasn't thinking clearly. When you died, my whole world crumbled and I fell apart. I was so messed up. I didn't want to live anymore, without you, I…"

"I didn't last a week, after you died, before running to crossroad demons for help; I know how it feels. You were alone, vulnerable, I get it. I'm not going to say that I don't have a problem with the fact that, of all people, you chose some black-eyed bitch, who was chomping at the bits to see the flesh sizzle off my bones, to be your confidante and sidekick. What I really don't get is that when I came back, and she kept coming between us, you still came to her defense every time. You turned your back on _me_ to go with her. I told you I'd follow you wherever you wanted to go. I only had one condition, and you still chose the demon bitch."

Sam tried to wipe the tears that were now falling down Dean's cheeks. He felt his own start to come down when his brother recoiled, as if he couldn't stand Sam touching him. Dean was livid. Both, he and Ruby, had come to blows more than once over Sam, and Sam knew that, in this war for his heart, he had let his brother lose too many times, even if he had never really cared about Ruby.

"I wanted you by my side, Dean. It wasn't about Ru-"

"Never say the Hell's bitch's name in front of me again." Dean stopped him cold.

Sam let out a trembling sigh. "I know now how wrong I was. Back then, I thought I was doing what needed to be done, and I needed your support. I was angry, too, because I felt you had no faith in me. Try to understand!"

After corking his feelings up for too long, Dean exploded. "Try to understand? No matter what I said, you refused to see her for what she was. You chose that lying whore over the brother who burned in Hell for you and would have done _anything_ for you. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

Contrite, Sam tried to take his brother's hand again, reestablish some kind of connection, but Dean jerked it away.

"I depended on you, Sam, and just like all the others…"

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam pleaded.

He clung to the legs of his brother's jeans, seeing the deep loneliness in those green eyes; Dean's struggle to understand what was so innately wrong with him that, no matter how much he gave, he was still worthless to those he was devoted to; the heartbreak over the fact that his Sammy had added himself to the long line of deserters and had abandoned him, too. He opened his mouth to swear it would never happen again, but he didn't get the chance to.

"All I understand is that after, all was said and done, you walked out, with her, after everything, you and I have been through. I had been gone a month, Sam, maybe two. And you were banging a demon. I guess you really needed the comfort."

"Dean, it wasn't like that…" It wasn't some passionate meeting of the infected soul and soul-less. It was him embracing the darkness, death, losing himself in it, hoping it would swallow him all the way down to Hell's backdoor, since all those crossroads demons laughing at his misery refused to let him through the front.

Before Sam could find the words, Dean shoved him back, making him fall to the floor, and he yelled, "Of all the people, you had to go and fuck _her_! The demonic cheerleader must have been something truly special. What did she have, little demonic tricks up her skirt? Cause she had you so bewitched, you wouldn't listen to anyone. Or maybe, you just plain liked her?"

"No, Dean."

Dean pounced on Sam like an angry tiger on its prey. He slapped him, shoved him down, and started tearing his shirt off. Sam gave a tiny whimper at the sharp sting on his left cheek, but did nothing to stop his brother, even when Dean yanked his pants down, flipped him over, and roughly pulled him up on his knees.

He heard Dean take off his own clothes, felt him spread spit over his entrance, and aim at his hole. He was still slightly lubricated from earlier, but he still grunted when Dean's knob popped his rim open, forcing its way in and sending waves of stabbing pain through his lower half.

Dean punched through the tight rings of muscles and drove his cock home. He gripped Sam's hips and slammed into him, with quick, rough stabs, leaving Sam no time to recover in between thrusts, and barely any space to breathe. Sam just took it, not fighting or asking Dean to stop; letting him take what he wanted, whatever he needed.

He reached back to curl his hand around Dean's hip, longing to touch him, but his knees buckled when his brother shoved forward forcefully and he lost his balance and fell under the impact.

Dean continued to thrust into him, pistoning in and out of the straining hole. He grabbed Sam's waist and lifted him off the floor.

"Get up. Get up, you fucking bitch!" he growled, and he threw Sam over the seat of the couch. "Spread 'em."

Sam obediently moved his thighs a little further apart. When he tried to touch his brother again, Dean grabbed his right wrist and locked it behind Sam's back. He gripped Sam's left shoulder with his other hand for leverage and drove in and out of his ass, deep and hard, pounding into him with abandon.

Sam moaned loudly, jerking under each brutal thrust, as Dean continued his savage fuck. It hurt, but as anything his brother did to his body, it also felt good, and his cock was rubbing against the soft fabric of the couch, helping to bring him closer and closer.

When Dean finally let go of his wrist, Sam took Dean's hand, intertwined their fingers together and pulled Dean down on top of him. He held his brother's hand close to his heart while Dean draped himself over his back. He understood; Dean's anger, his jealousy, and his sadness. He understood that his brother had lost everything when Sammy had turned his back on him, and that had hurt Dean more than anything he had endured in the furnace.

He wished they didn't have to go through all this pain, but he was powerless to change the past. He just wanted to be invited again to that place that only belonged to Sammy, Dean's heart. He clutched his brother's hand.

"I love you," he pledged through his tears. "And I choose you, Dean, I always will."

His body started to shake, and he cried out as his orgasm rocketed through him, violent and shattering. His muscles clamped around Dean, and Dean groaned, his body convulsing as he pulled out and ejaculated on Sam's ass, painting the damp skin with several streaks of come, as if he was marking his territory.

Sam rested his head on the cushion and closed his eyes in quiet bliss, content to lie there, wearing his brother like a blanket. Dean was heavy on top of him, strong, solid, and pinning him in place. His palm was gentle as it glided over the finger-shaped bruises on Sam's hip, his lips, soft and warm against his neck; and Sam held on to his hand until Dean said the word Sam didn't know he was dreading in his ear, "_Over.",_ and salty droplets were falling from his eyes, down Sam's shoulder, while he was taking the choker off his neck.

"It's over," Dean repeated, and he let himself drop to the floor to lean against the bottom of the couch.

Sam's heart felt like lead in his chest. Three days after he had said, "_From the moment I say start, it doesn't stop until I say over"_, Dean was taking the leash off and cancelling the twisted play they were starring in. To Sam, it also felt like he was declaring that _they _were over.

He slid next to his brother, and reached across Dean's lap to try to pry the collar from his fingers, so he could put it back where it belonged. When Dean simply shook his head 'no' with a newfound calm, Sam understood he better use that moment of reprieve to say what was on his mind while Dean was in a state to listen. He rested his head on his brother's shoulder and started.

"Dean, I know what I did. I know how much I hurt you. I wish I could go back and undo it, but I can't."

Sam paused, remembering the near-hatred on Dean's face the night before. He had never loved Ruby, and each time he had shielded her from Dean's wrath, it was because he thought he was protecting an irreplaceable weapon he needed to win the war. He was obsessively focused on his mission and had no time to stop and think that, to his brother, some of his actions felt like he was spitting on years of friendship, love and sacrifice.

The demon blood he was chugging did nothing to help his clarity. He had convinced himself he was drinking it so he could shoulder the burden while his brother healed from his descent into the bowels of Hell, but in the process he had allowed the devil's wine to change him into the kind of person he never thought he could be.

He blinked away the image of him leaving Dean behind to go with Ruby. She was probably smirking in the hallway, listening in to the sounds of their fight, enjoying the fruits of her hard work, confident she had Sam so blinded and high he would step over his own brother to follow her straight to Hell. The familiar guilt spread through him. He had been such a fool…

"I'm not asking you to just forgive and forget today. I love you. Even if you don't love me back right now, just know that I love you, and the only thing I ask is that you don't give up on us, and that you give me a chance to make this right."

He gazed into Dean's eyes and pressed a tender kiss on his brother's lips when he nodded. He wrapped his arms around him and waited. Dean hesitated a few seconds then he put his arms around Sam. They hugged, rocking gently; two halves of a broken soul which had lost their anchor and were holding on to their world so it wouldn't slip away.

* * *

><p>Sam's thumb stroked over the back of Dean's hand under the table.<p>

"Do you need anything else?... Did you enjoy your meal? ...Sir?"

"Oh! No, nothing. Uh… yeah, we're good. Just the bill, thanks."

"Here it is," the waitress said with an amused smile as she placed the piece of paper on their table.

Sam had a quiet laugh. It was his first time outside, since the collar had come off, and it showed. In only a few days, he had gotten out of the habit of paying attention to people. Usually, he was sitting in a corner, avoiding eye contact, and keeping his vow of silence until his master allowed him to speak.

After an emotional night, they had overslept and forfeited breakfast in favor of more time together. They had stayed in bed, quietly locked in each other's arms, gentle touches and kisses the only language they needed to communicate until hunger had pushed them out the door in the beginning of the afternoon.

"Let's go," Dean said after throwing a couple of bills on the table.

Sam followed him, smiling when he saw his brother grab a fistful of sweets in the candy jar, stuff two in his mouth and the rest in his pocket. Dean's appetite was definitely making a comeback.

"So… should I be worried?" he asked when they were in the car, driving back to the motel.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"You've been thinking about something since you woke up. I didn't want to say anything, but I can tell it's still on your mind. What is it?"

Dean furrowed his brow, surprised Sam had even noticed. They had been glued at the lips all morning, and they had even managed to play 'fondle me' under the table while tearing into a copious lunch like starving hyenas.

"Please say something."

Dean turned his head and looked into Sam's worried eyes. He had planned to do this alone, but it would be a whole lot easier if Sam was involved.

"Do you remember the abandoned barn at the edge of town?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, no closer to understanding what was going on.

"I'm gonna go there, tonight, and I want you to bring _it_ there, alive."

They remained silent during the rest of the drive, and when they got to the motel, Dean dropped Sam off without a word.

As soon as Sam closed the door behind him, he took his cell phone and dialed. The voice he was hoping to hear greeted him on the other end.

"Hey, Sam."

"I tried. I tried to make it work, to do everything he wanted," he said. "He just refuses to understand, to move on. I'm done."

"What's going on?" the voice asked.

"I need you, Ruby."

"Where are you?"

_**Chapter 5: Crimes For His Passion**_


	8. Chapter 5 Crimes For His Passion

**CHAPTER 5: CRIMES FOR HIS PASSION**

**Summary:** _She_, gets hers.

Ruby waited for the coordinates. Sam had promised to call her later that night. He just needed time to ditch his brother so he could meet her somewhere quiet. She smiled in triumph. Her puppet had found his way home. She would make sure he completed his transformation into the ruler of the Hell, and as his right hand demon, she would reign as a queen, untouchable, finally respected among her own and more feared than Lilith had ever been.

All her work was paying off. She just needed to keep playing the supportive girlfriend; it worked a lot better with sensitive Sammy, much better than her true, more abrasive personality ever had. Now that he was vulnerable and felt rejected by his precious Dean once again, he was ripe for the picking. Her phone buzzed and she read the text message. Less than a minute later, she was inside the abandoned building Sam had indicated to her. She spotted him, standing alone, looking through a broken window.

"I'm glad you called. I was hoping that with time you'd understand and give me another chance."

"Ruby." Sam got up and walked toward her, a shaky smile on his face. "You came."

"Of course, you needed me." She walked up to him. "Unlike Dean, I understand, and I know that there's nothing wrong with you, with what you are, and what you have, and you would see it too, if you just had half the faith in yourself that I have in you."

"I guess I need to trust my heart more," Sam said.

"Yes," Ruby replied, silently thanking Dean for making his Darling Little Sammy feel so unwanted that he was running right back into her arms again. "You're going to be okay. We're going to fix this. Whatever you decide to do, you have the power change things and we'll find a way. I have chosen my side now and I'm standing by you." She put her arms around him, stood on her tippy toes, and stared into his eyes. "You have no idea how all these months with you have affected me. When I saw you, so upset in that church… I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing anymore."

Sam turned cold and he pulled himself out of her embrace.

"Sam?" she asked sweetly, trying to sound sincere and look equally harmless.

"I see you're the same two-faced, manipulative witch you've always been. How did I not see it before?"

"What?"

Sam gave a loud whistle.

* * *

><p>"Where's our slutty little Yoda?"<p>

Ruby whipped her neck and her eyes narrowed when she saw the man who was entering the barn.

"Dean?" she snarled, hatefully.

"I see you came when he called. Always the obedient little bitch."

She tried to lunge at him, but slammed into an invisible force field. She scraped the hay covering the floor with the tip of her boot and saw the lines of a trap hidden beneath the dried straws.

Dean smirked. "I bet you came running, too, thinking you had a second chance to make him over into your little antichrist superstar."

Dean pulled Ruby's own knife from his jacket. Pointing it at her chin to keep her still, he entered the devil's trap that was drawn around a wooden pillar, and chained the demoness to the post. He stepped out and pulled a flask and a bottle from his pockets.

"What's this?" she asked, as she saw him first pour holy water over the blade then coat it with salt.

"That's for you. Oh, I've been waiting for this moment."

"Aren't you taking your scorned husband routine a little far?"

Dean smiled; unbothered by the jab, no matter how true it rang. The duplicitous whore was going to bleed and that's all that mattered to him.

"You're possessing a corpse, and it's all you in there, so you make sure and tell me if I'm going too far when I make the flesh sizzle off your bones."

"You asshole!"

"Today, you can just call me Freddy. Sam, go wait outside."

"No."

"No?"

Sam's heart broke at the look of incredulity on Dean's face. He could hear the unspoken, _Are you going to stop me? Are you going to protect her, defend her, again?_ and it reminded him the defiant and secretly frightened look he had seen in Dean's eyes when Dean had asked that he trapped Ruby, as if he was expecting a fight, or for Sam to say… _no_.

He took knife from his brother. He knew Dean was never unnecessarily cruel, but this was personal, and the extremes he was willing to go to only proved the true depth of his hurt and how bitter he still was about the whole thing. He poured more salt on the knife for good measure. He had a vivid hallucination that he was being tortured by Alastair in Bobby's panic room, so he had some idea of what to do. He turned to his brother.

"Where?" he asked.

"Sam don't! It's not you. Dean would never ask you to sink to his level if he cared about you, as much as he pretends."

Dean move forward to shut her up but Sam dug the knife into her side before he could get to her, not deep enough to kill, but as far as it could go to hurt like hell.

"You shut up about my brother," he threatened angrily.

Ruby's screams filled in the dusty barn.

"So protective all of the sudden," she hissed. "Are you going to whip me for your own weaknesses, so you can get back into big bro's good graces again? So he can keep bending you over to show you who's boss? Very macho, _Sammy,_" she taunted, knowing the desperate things he was willing to do to hear Dean call him by that loving nickname again.

Enraged, Sam moved the knife toward her chest to stab her in the heart, but Dean stilled his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" he intervened, stunned by the turn of events. "Let me handle this."

He never planned for Sam to be a part of this, especially not have him go all dominatrix on his former Hell buddy. He just needed his help to gain access to Ruby.

"Where?" Sam repeated, dead serious.

Ruby raised panicked eyes and watched Dean wrestle with the decision. She hated him; hated him with a passion. He had been a thorn in her side from day one. She had never been able to fool him and he had fought her every step of the way for Sam.

Even when the bastard was frying in Hell, his ghost was hovering around Sam like a jealous lover, and she had to work harder than she should have to pull Sam from his grasp, setting up demons attacks she could rescue Sam from at her own 'peril', saying the things Dean would have said to his grieving brother if he could, and finding all the ways in which she could take Dean's place, in order to gain Sam's trust. He had such a powerful hold on his little brother that, in spite of everything she had done to weaken their bond; she had never truly been able to break it.

If she was to die, she wanted Dean to do it, so she could be spared the humiliation of being ended by her own puppet. Dean had won already, but she knew that the one thing that would make his victory complete and his revenge sweeter would be to have Sam torture her to death, as a show of loyalty to Dean.

When he finally slid a hand under his little brother's shirt, rubbed his stomach, and gently traced a line horizontally under his navel, whispering, "Here," her mouth filled with the bitter taste of defeat and she shrieked while Sam pushed the blade through her shirt.

_That's for lying to him, over, and over,_ she heard in her mind, as she yelled from the pain.

She looked at Dean's hands, the left one wrapped around Sam's waist, and the right one tracing arabesques over the firm skin, until it found a spot it liked and drew over it with a straight line while Dean whispered, "Here," in Sam's ear.

The blade replicated the movement on her, slicing through layers of fabric and skin, as she screamed, while Dean looked into her blackened eyes, telling her without moving his lips, _That's for tricking him into using his powers._

The sadistic bastard took his time, guiding Sam's hand with the tip of his fingers, and letting her know, with every cut, exactly what she was being carved for.

_That's for fucking him… That's for hooking him on demon filth… That's for leaving him crackin' out for days on end… That's for turning him… That's for… And that's for…._

Her head dropped, as she was submerged by pain, little by little. She could barely make out the son of a bitch's words anymore, but she knew he was watching, jubilant, as she was being reduced to a bleeding, quivering heap.

"Here," Dean whispered in his brother's ear, watching the blade slash through the demon's skinny jeans, matching the slow caress of his fingers running up Sam's thigh.

He had to move to another part of her body because her stomach was all Krugered out. He had never hated anything as much as he did that ugly broad hiding her nightmare-of-a-face behind some random girl's features. He had come in here to kill her, and had planned on being the one to deliver every single cut until the final blow, to look into her dead eyes as he sank the blessed and salted blade deep into her gut.

He would have never known if Sam would have been able to do it. Never would have had the satisfaction of seeing his brother renounce his little mistress and pose the ultimate gesture, to prove Dean was truly the one he had chosen. He never planned on asking Sam to do this, but now that his brother had offered, he felt retribution would be absolute. And maybe it was petty, pathetic, and insecure, but he didn't care, he needed to see Sam kill Ruby and he was going to enjoy it. He stepped close to the demon.

"You really thought you were going to take him from me, huh, little Hell bitch? You're messing with the wrong family. He's mine."

She groaned meekly, wishing Sam would just hurry up and kill her already, then she wouldn't have to hear Dean gloat, but adding insult to injury, the detestable he-bitch was the one to make the call, again.

"Finish her," he told Sam, as he took his place by his brother's side.

"No," she groaned, blood bubbling from her mouth. She hated him, she hated him so m-

Blood splashed over Sam's hand when he jammed the blade clean through Ruby's throat.

Dean let out a satisfied sigh and flicked his lighter. _And now, for the fireworks,_ he thought with a sinister grin.

_**Chapter 6: Love, Don't Let Me Go**_


	9. Chapter 6 Love Don't Let Me Go P1 BP

**CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON'T LET ME GO**

_No matter how I think we grow_

_You always seem to let me know_

_It ain't workin'_

_It ain't workin'_

Lauryn Hill – X-Factor

**Summary: **If you love something let it go.

**PART I: BROKEN PUPPET**

Dean pulled the curtain aside and looked out the window. The weather matched his mood perfectly, dark and gloomy. He slipped back into bed and watched his brother intently. He had barely slept through the night; troubled, and struggling with the emotions that were roiling within him. After they had driven back from the old barn, they had fallen into his bed and waited for sleep to come, never speaking a word about the macabre ritual they had performed together, away from prying eyes.

In the harsh light of day, he was seeing things differently. The noise that jumbled everything in his head, and had made him blind with rage, had finally quieted down since Ruby had expired. Up until that point, he had been driven by a burning hatred, and it felt like, now that his mind was somewhat at peace, he could see straight again.

He had spent hours thinking of the things they had done. No matter how far he had gone, Sam had never complained, never asked him to stop. At times, when he had been possessed by jealous rage, he had wanted to hurt Sam; make Sam suffer in his flesh as he had in his heart, to punish him for confiding in her, screwing her, and trusting her. Sam had agreed to it all, hoping to be forgiven, and Dean had been in complete control, leaving Sam no option but to shut up and do whatever was asked of him. As a consequence, everything that had come of that unholy arrangement had been a lie.

He had thought it was Ruby who had gotten between them; she was responsible for the mess they were in. It was only partly true. She was just a symptom of the problems they had had for a long time, only amplified. Many times, before she ever entered the picture, Sam had left him of his own accord. No matter how badly he wanted to forget it, Dean could no longer run from the truth.

He brushed a mussed lock of hair from Sam's face and stroked the smooth skin above his brother's right eyebrow, dragging his thumb over one of the beauty mark that dotted the handsome face. His shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat. Sam had given him everything he wanted, it was time for him to return the favor.

Sam stirred and moved closer to Dean, a frown creasing his forehead, as if he could sense something was wrong. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking sleep away.

"Dean?" he called, when he saw the sober expression on his brother's face.

Dean answered with a stiff smile, "Hey, baby boy."

"Hey."

Sam touched the side of his brother's face and moved closer to give him a kiss. He was aiming for the lips, but Dean turned his head and hid his face in the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding a little too tight. Sam heaved a soft sigh and started playing with the short strands of his brother's hair, trying to push away the worry that was creeping up on him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

Dean closed his eyes, engraving every detail of the moment into his memory so he would never forget it. Everything about the kid made him ache with a longing so intense he sometimes feared it would drive him insane.

"Yeah," he lied. He could do this. No, he _had_ to do this, there was no other choice. But he wasn't doing it here, in the one place he wanted to stay curled up with Sam and suspended in time so he could keep the masquerade going longer than it should, pretending that the real world and their numerous issues didn't exist. He pulled away from his brother's arms and turned around so Sam wouldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes. "Let's go get some breakfast!" he suggested, and he bounced out of the bed.

Sam chewed on his lip and watched his brother head toward the bathroom. _Don't be paranoid_, he reasoned with himself. _He's fine. Everything's fine. We're…we're fine._

* * *

><p><em>See I know what we got to do<em>

_You let go, and I let go too_

'_Cause no one hurt me more than you_

_And no one ever will_

Lauryn Hill – X-Factor

They had a quick breakfast filled with covert glances and awkward silences. Each was absorbed in his thoughts: Sam trying to deny the sense of dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach, and Dean using the respite offered by the morning meal to figure out how he was going to approach the topic.

They got back in the car and kept quiet until Dean parked the Impala in front of the motel and told Sam he would join him in a minute.

He waited for Sam to enter their room and started stuffing every bill he had in his pockets, except one, inside the hidden compartment at the passenger's feet in the floor of the Impala. Then he opened the trunk, grabbed a spare handgun, a few salt rounds, a box of silver bullets and two wooden stakes that he stuffed into his duffel and slammed it shut, taking a moment to glide his hand over the lustrous black surface.

He gave one last, long look to his prized possession and walked up to their room door. When he opened it, his eyes fell on Sam, sitting on the couch, right leg twitching nervously, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to delay his announcement any longer. Sam had picked up on his sullen mood, and when his baby brother looked up at him, the fear and the quiet hope in the breathtaking hazel eyes made Dean feel worse about what he was about to do.

He dropped his bag on the floor and stood there, not knowing where to start, then he moved a few steps back and leaned against the table near the window, gripping it to steady himself.

"Sam." He decided to go straight to the point. "I get that you were trying to take out the bad guys, save our necks, and keep me safe. Hell, I wouldn't be here if you hadn't showed up right before Alastair could tear me limb from limb. I believe your intentions were good, that you got lost along the way, and that at some point the bitch blood took over."

_There, that wasn't so hard was it_, he encouraged himself before releasing his grip on the wood plank. He looked into Sam's eyes, needing his brother to believe him, and said, "I want you to know that I'm not angry anymore."

Sam got up and walked toward Dean, hanging on his every word. Dean pressed himself against the piece of furniture, as if he could create enough distance to keep Sam from ever reaching him. His fingers tensed around the table's edge once again, knuckles turning white.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were on a tight leash sometimes. Man, you hated Dad for doing that to us. I wasn't always listening, either. We both know how I get when you try to bring up stuff I don't wanna hear," he admitted with a sad smile. "Sam, I want you to know that I always saw you as my pain-in-the-ass little brother, even when you felt that I looked at you as if you were…" –Dean refused to use that one word that hurt Sam to his core, and made him see red like a wounded bull, ever again. "I'm sorry I called you that. I can see now, how some of the things I did made you want to run the opposite direction, and I get that you wanted to be your own man; you have every right to be."

Sam watched his brother get paler and paler in front of his eyes, the way he did when he got sick, or when he tried to hide a hunting injury that was slowly draining him of his blood. "Dean, this sounds really good and all," he said, "but why do I feel like I'm not going to like the rest?"

Dean looked down at the light brown carpet. "You'll be fine. Maybe there will be a slight period of adjustment, but you'll be fine," he assured. "We'll both be okay," he added, trying to convince himself that he would somehow make it.

Sam shook his head no and moved closer. "Please stop talking."

"I can't. I need to say this and you need to hear it." Dean looked back at his brother. Sam was proud, hardheaded like any Winchester worth his salt, and most of all, rebellious. He hated nothing more than feeling he was being controlled, yet, to mend fences with Dean, he had allowed his brother to go where no one had gone before, and would ever go again. Sam had given him a part of him no one else ever had, and no matter what happened, it would be Dean's to keep. He wouldn't ask for more, and he was through letting his brother whore himself out to satisfy his once burning need for retribution.

Sam was everything to him: everything that was beautiful and good; and the one thing on this God forsaken planet that was worth dying for a hundred times and more. Still, in a frenzy of rage, he had reduced him to nothing, a mindless pet; a docile, slavish fuck doll; and Sam had let him. "What you gave me, I'm aware of what it took out of you…"

"I know what you're doing," Sam interrupted. "You're trying to figure out a way to make yourself the bad guy here. So, what it was s a little out there? When have we ever done things the normal way? I loved it, and so did you. It brought us closer than anything else could have. I don't regret a minute of it, and neither should you!"

"That's not what I'm doing."

It was bigger than this twisted little thing they had going. It was the realization that, sooner or later, Sam would run off again, alone or with someone else, to get as far away from Dean as he could. Dean was the same man he had always been, a hunter, an outlaw, a big brother who, for all the love he had in his heart, was still authoritative, controlling, possessive, overprotective, overbearing, sometimes insensitive, and very unskilled in the arts of sharing emotions in the way Sam needed.

He wasn't sure how but sooner or later, he would drive Sam away again. Every time it happened, it broke a little more of him, and now after he had had all of Sam, he simply couldn't wait around for the day his brother would tire of being around him again. He had to let Sam go, for Sam's sake, and for his own sanity.

He dug in his pocket and handed Sam the key to their home on wheels. He had put enough in the secret compartment to know he wasn't sending his brother off to live under a bridge. "Take the Impala," he said, choosing the gentlest way to tell Sam he wanted him out.

"Don't do this," Sam pleaded. "Haven't I proven that I'll do anything for you? What does that get me?"

"Enough respect for me to put a stop to this insanity, before we destroy whatever's left of us! Enough honesty to admit that I'm taking advantage of your guilt to make you do things you don't want to do. My apologies for everything I've _ever _done wrong, and your chance to finally be free!

"I did these things because I love you and I trust you!"

"I know." Dean pressed the key inside Sam's palm, insisting, "It's for the best."

"Whatever happened to not giving up on us?"

"I'm not. I just want to give us a chance to be brothers again, cause this sure ain't the way. I'm not saying we'll never see each other again."

"You mean a few days?"

Dean looked away.

"Longer?"

"Sam, I don't know."

"No. This is an order I won't obey, unless you want to give me my collar back?" Sam asked, defiance burning in his eyes.

"You're never wearing that thing again. And no, it's is not an order."

Closing the distance between them, Sam grasped his brother's head and pressed his lips to his. Dean couldn't stop himself from responding to the kiss.

"Dean, don't push me away again, please" Sam asked, as Dean pulled away. "I love you."

"And you think _I_ don't love you?" Dean asked, shaking Sam by his shoulders.

"Then why? What else do you want me to do!"

"Nothing."

It was so definitive. How did one argue with _nothing_?

Sam tried. "No."

"Okay. I can leave then, you stay," Dean offered. "I just wanted you to be free to go wherever you wanted, but you can stay here if you prefer."

"I don't care about here or somewhere else! I just want to be where you are!"

Dean gently rubbed his brother's wrists and pushed Sam's hands from his face. "I'll go," he decided. He walked away and started picking up his things.

A sick feeling came over Sam when he saw his brother roll up his clothes and shove them inside his duffle bag. There was something terrifying about watching the one person he thought would always be there getting ready to walk out on him. He wouldn't do it.

"I'll go," Sam decided, thinking that this way at least, he would know where Dean was and where to find him.

He gathered his meager belongings in a daze then stood next to his bed. He looked at his brother, who had placed himself at the opposite end of the room, and prayed Dean would come to his senses, see how wrong this was, or tell him he was just toying with him, that this was just another variation of the game they had been playing, a little pain before the pleasure… but the master looked down, denying him his reward.

Sam grabbed his bag, suddenly furious. He wanted to scream and fight his brother until he had knocked some sense into him. Then, as quickly as his anger had flared, it was gone, and he was left empty, hopeless, and utterly lost. He turned to look at his brother one last time, then he left the room and slammed the door behind him.

Dean stood frozen for a while. When he managed to get moving again, almost fifteen minutes had passed. He locked the door, denying himself a last glance through the window to see if the Impala had moved.

The noise jolted Sam, who was still outside, out of his shock. _What if this was a test?_ he thought. To see how easily he would walk away when faced with the first difficulty. He turned around and started banging on the door.

"Dean!" he yelled. "I'll stir up the whole fucking neighborhood if you don't open this door!"

Dean slid to the floor and let his tears fall freely. "Please Sammy, it's gonna be okay," he whispered, knowing Sam couldn't hear, but hoping his brother would somehow feel his words of comfort. "You'll be better off, you'll see. I promise you. I promise you."

Sam would get over it. He would get the chance to make his way on his own, and when they would meet again, they would have put the ugliness and confusion behind them, and have another shot at being brothers again.

Dean heard his name being called, between cries and knocks on the other side, and felt the taste of his own blood fill his mouth when he bit into his fist to keep his sobs down. He had thought it was better that they did this now, rather than in the future, where it would surely kill him. Well, it was killing him already, and hearing Sam's cries only added to the already unbearable pain.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wood, battling the part of him that wanted to crawl on his knees to beg Sam to forget everything he had just said and come back to him. "It's going to be okay, baby," he whispered again.

He hoped his brother had somehow sensed it, when the knocking stopped, and the sudden silence was followed by the sound of the Impala pulling out of the motel parking. Dean's heart skipped a beat. He wondered, for a second, if it would stop completely, but it kept going, reminding him with every beat that he had finally lost everything.

_Part II – A Master On His Knees_


	10. Chapter 6 Love Don't Let Me Go P2 AMOHK

**CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON'T LET ME GO**

**PART II: A MASTER ON HIS KNEES**

Dean woke up abruptly when his phone rang. He squinted at the alarm clock and yawned. 3:24 am. After spending the day in a fog following Sam's departure, he had struggled to find sleep, and he was being woken up an hour after he had finally managed to close his eyes. He grabbed his phone, flipped it open, and found he had a new text message. He sat up straight, fully alert when he saw who it was from. It only said one thing: _Door_.

He turned on the light, walked with quick steps to the door, and opened it wide. There was nothing outside but the wind and chilly night. He stepped back inside and felt something crinkle under his foot. His heart sank when he noticed the piece of paper. Sam had been there…

He picked up the envelope and stared at it, afraid to open it, feeling like he was holding a bomb that could snuff out the fragile, dwindling flame still burning in his chest. At best, it would be a goodbye letter; at worst, words of disownment from a brother who now loathed Dean for throwing him out, after using him like a plaything.

Dean closed the door and kept staring at the letter. _When had Sam left it there?_ Dean knew he would have recognized the sound of the Impala if his brother had parked near the motel; unless Sam had come during the short lapse of time when he had been asleep. Had Sam turned the car around, come back, and left the note, or had he been there the whole time?

His finger shook when he slipped it underneath the fold of the envelope to tear it open. He flattened the paper against the door and let his eyes trail over the words written by the familiar handwriting.

_How could I have known, that you forgiving me, would be the worst thing that could happen._

_At least when you were angry, you wanted me around, if only to punish me._

_Maybe you thought I was enjoying it all too much. You were right. _

_I wanted you to take me as you wished and do whatever pleased you. _

_I simply wanted to be yours again. _

The ground seemed to waver under Dean's feet. He leaned his forehead against the hard wood. _He'll understand_, he told himself, trying to hold on to the hope that this whole mess would sort itself out somehow. "Give it time, baby," he begged, pushing down the lump in his throat. _Hurts now, but in the end, you'll be better off._

It didn't matter that he wanted to keep Sam with him even more than Sam wanted to stay. They had tried this before, and the ending was always the same. The caged bird flew away, returning to the joys and perils of freedom in the wild, leaving Dean behind, every time a little more broken inside.

Clutching the letter, he staggered into bed, wrapped his fingers around his amulet, and pressed his face into the pillow, still smelling a bit of Sam in there. He didn't sleep a wink, and when morning came, he stumbled out, red-rimmed eyes and haggard steps, to buy a few bottles of cheap whiskey to help him get through the week.

When he came back, another surprise awaited him under his door. He put the heavy paper bag down and went searching for the one who had delivered it. He wandered around the motel, looking everywhere for his brother, and sat on the curb of the parking lot for half an hour, hoping to catch Sam if he came back around. When he finally accepted that Sam was gone, for good this time, he went into his room to open the second letter.

_I'll be your shadow, faithful and obedient. _

_Don't care what I have to do, who I have to kill. _

_I'll be your slave, your slightly broken toy. _

_Just pick it up and glue it back together. _

_All you have to do is call, I'll come running._

Dean felt his resolve begin to crumble as he read the pleading words. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam's number, but he hung up right before the connection was established, and grabbed a bottle instead. He dragged himself to bed, as if he was twice his age, and tortured himself, reading his brother's notes until his eyes were swimming, and looking at Sam's name on the speed dial once in a while just to make it sting a little more.

Days blended into nights, then into days again, in a blur of alcohol, undialed phone calls, crumpled letters read too many times, and memories of Sam's warm body next to him in a bed he hardly seemed able to leave anymore.

Three days after Sam's last letter, Dean had no news and was sick with worry. _That's what you wanted, wasn't it? _a voice that sounded a lot like his own sneered in his head, first thing in the morning. It wasn't what Dean wanted. He wanted Sam here, with him, never leaving again. The cynical smart mouth with the hard-ass shell wanted the happy ending that would never be; and he was dying to call his brother, just to see if he was okay; but he wouldn't.

Dean knew he had to stop smothering Sam as he had, too often in the past. He wanted to give his brother some space, the chance to forget, heal, and move on to brighter things. But he also knew, deep down, that Sam was hurting, especially since he had received no reply to his second letter, and he was going out of his mind with worry, wondering how Sam was doing, whether he was taking care of himself.

_Perhaps I could track him down and trail him for a couple of days, just to make sure everything's all right?_ Dean shook his head at the idea, scoffed, and covered his eyes with his palm. _You're pathetic man, _he said to himself, _and while you sit here, moping in the dark, the world is going to Hell._

He rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and changed t-shirts in a much needed step toward normalcy. His stomach growled and he glanced at the old box of pizza he had barely touched in two days. His body was hungry, but he wasn't interested in feeding it. He was content to run on fumes, pain, and whiskey. His eyes fell on the brown bag still on the floor near the door, and he cursed when he remembered that he had emptied the last bottle hours ago.

He stumbled back into the messy room, tripping over clothes, empty bottles, and a broken lamp, vaguely remembering his outburst from a night ago; him swinging around until the bleeding cuts on his right hand forced him to interrupt his little rampage to pour some liquor on his wounds, before guzzling down the rest.

He grabbed his wallet, searching for money to go buy a cup of coffee, and cursed again when he found it empty. He had maxed out his credit card after paying for five more nights in the motel. He was supposed to hustle some pool days ago, but putting his mind to such productive use would have gotten in the way of his pity party, therefore he had forgotten all about it. He looked for spare change in his pockets, and when he had gathered enough coins, he finished getting dressed and walked to the door. His heart stopped, then began thundering in his chest, when he saw it on the floor. Another one. One that wasn't there the day before.

He grabbed the envelope and tore it open. His eyes flew over the page.

_When I talked to Bobby, he said that, while I was at my worst, you told him you would take me as I was._

_I gave you all I was, kept and hid nothing._

_I guess you changed your mind. _

Dean dropped the letter and yanked the door open.

"Sam?" he called. "…_Sam_!"

_Part III – Sweet Child Of Mine_


	11. Chapter 6 Love Don't Let Me Go P3 SCOM

**CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON'T LET ME GO**

**PART III: SWEET CHILD OF MINE**

_Care for me, care for me  
>I know you care for me<br>There for me, there for me  
>Said you'd be there for me<br>Cry for me, cry for me  
>You said you'd die for me<br>Give to me, give to me  
>Why won't you live for me<em>

_Cry for me, cry for me  
><em>

…_You said you'd die for me_

Lauryn Hill – X-Factor

Dean burst outside. He scanned up and down the sidewalk, and ran to the parking lot when he spotted the Impala. He surveyed the inside of the vehicle, looking for a bag, a piece of clothing, a soda can; anything that would indicate that Sam was still around, that he hadn't just dropped the car off for Dean.

Sam always meticulously cleaned up after himself before leaving any place for good, and when Dean found no sign of his brother in the car, he stood back, his hands over his head, petrified. He soon felt a prickly sensation on the back of his neck and spun around, his eyes widening when he saw the man standing next to his motel room, staring at him, a military back pack and a computer bag slung over his shoulders.

In a few strides, Dean was in front of his brother. Sam looked as bad as Dean felt; miserable, and at the end of his rope. Dean touched the unshaved face and swiped his thumbs over his brother's cheeks, noticing the circles under the sad eyes.

"You said you wouldn't give up on us."

Sam sounded so tired, Dean noted with worry. _Where had he been? What had he been doing? _"Why are you still here?" he asked softly.

"'Cause you are," Sam said with a little shrug.

Dean took Sam by the hand and pulled him inside the room.

"I thought… you'd be far from here by now," he said, as he took Sam's bags from him to set them on the floor.

"I thought you needed time," Sam replied, the slight shake in his voice showing that he had waited as long as he could, and wasn't sure he could hold on much longer.

Dean put his arms around Sam and pulled him into a hug. "You been here all this time?" he whispered against Sam's ear, feeling the claws of guilt sink a little deeper into his chest.

"Not far," Sam admitted. "I don't want to leave without you, Dean, please don't make me," he asked, burying his face in Dean's shoulder.

"Sam…"

They held each other close; the frustration, weariness, and agony of the last few days dropping on them like stones. They moved as one, unsteady and exhausted, as Dean led them backwards, and let themselves fall to floor as soon as they bumped into something. They clung to each other, Dean leaning against the foot of his bed and Sam resting on his brother's chest, an arm thrown around Dean's waist.

"Look at us," Dean joked after a healing silence. "We're supposed to save the world. These people are screwed."

Sam let out a weak chuckle, and Dean pressed a light kiss to his brother's brow.

"You're not a toy, Sam," Dean said in apology.

"Mm."

"And I never changed my mind." Dean ran his knuckles along the line of Sam's jaw. "You're everything I want, all I need; and it scares me."

"Dean…"

"Sh…" Dean slid his hand into Sam's pocket.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised, although he wasn't complaining.

"I'm broke," Dean explained.

"Of course, you are. You left me almost everything, and you blew the rest on booze."

Dean had a little smile, pleased that his brother had the sense to check the hidden compartment. He pulled Sam's money clip out and asked, "Want a salad?"

Sam shook his head. His stomach growled, confirming that something so meager was just not going to cut it this time. "I'll have what you have," he said, knowing that whatever Dean would pick would at least be filling.

Dean looked at Sam. "When was the last time you ate?"

Sam thought about it a moment. "Not sure," he answered honestly.

"Me neither."

Dean tightened his hold around Sam's shoulders and he dug into his brother's pocket again to borrow his phone, since he couldn't reach his own in the position they were in.

He didn't want to get up to grab the menu stapled to the pizza box either. He had a vague recollection of the restaurant's number, so he tried a couple of combinations, and lucked out after the third try.

"Tommy's, hold the line please," a voice answered.

Sam shifted against Dean. "'Need a shower," he mumbled.

"Go. I'll take care of the delivery guy," Dean said.

Sam nodded. He pulled himself to his feet, stretched his tall frame, and cracked the joints that were protesting after too many nights spent in the backseat of the Impala. Dean watched him yawn and roll his neck as he walked away, and his mouth curved into a small smile.

Who was he kidding? He did not have it in himself to turn Sam away one more time. If Sam wanted to be with him now, he wouldn't fight it. And the day Sam would get tired and leave, the time spent together would still have been worth it.

When Sam turned around and looked at him, a little frown on his forehead and his mouth tight with worry, Dean knew exactly what his brother needed to hear.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, before Sam disappeared in the bathroom, a shy smile on his relieved face.

"Tommy's? ...How may I help you? …Hello!" The irritated male voice at the end of the line finally caught Dean's attention.

"Yeah, uh." He cleared his throat. "So, what's the Hungry Hippo special again?" he asked.

* * *

><p>After an invigorating shower and a shave, Sam tumbled into his bed and fell asleep on the spot. He never stirred, even while Dean cleaned up the rest of the room, putting the empty bottles, broken lamp, and the mess that was littering the floor away; or when he opened the window to let some fresh air in.<p>

Dean let his brother sleep while he wolfed down a greasy foot-long steak sandwich with equally greasy fries and washed them down with Coke. He took a shower, left Bobby a message to tell the old man they were still alive and well, and flipped the channels until he found a decent movie to pass the time.

An hour or so later, he put half of the large vegetarian pizza in a plate and heated it in the microwave. He climbed into Sam's bed and moved the steaming plate in circles above his brother's face, smiling when Sam's nose finally twitched, awakened by the mouthwatering scent.

"Hey," he said when Sam opened his eyes. "I would have let you sleep, but you really need to eat something."

Sam yawned, twisted around, and sat up, eyeing the mushrooms, green peppers, fresh tomatoes, and black olives with great interest. He grinned at Dean to thank his brother for ordering all the toppings he liked, for once, and reached for a slice.

"Careful, it's hot," Dean warned, and he put the plate down to hand Sam a napkin.

He watched Sam devour one slice, then another, noting his unusual enthusiasm as he stuffed his empty stomach, and he felt disheartened by the way their time apart had affected his little brother.

Sam kicked Dean's thigh when he saw the clouds gather in his brother's eyes. "Guess that's what happens, when you're not around to feed me anymore," he joked, trying to diffuse the tension.

Dean's fingers curled around his brother's ankle, rubbing it gently. "Oh, so now we're resorting to emotional blackmail? Hunger strike? That's original." Dean tried to sound amused, but he was unable to hide his concern.

"Whatever works," Sam replied, the glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes showing that he was no longer kidding.

Dean stared at his brother, wondering for a moment if Sam was trying to tell him he would hurt himself if they separated again, but when Sam looked back at him, and pointedly glanced at the empty bottles sticking out from the trash can, Dean had to admit that he hadn't handled their time apart any better. The message was clear: Each had been gloriously miserable without the other.

Sam looked away and reached toward the plate. Dean watched him fight with the melted cheese as he tried to a separate two slices with one hand, too lazy to peel his back off the pillow to involve the other one.

Dean's laughter lightened the atmosphere. He broke the slices apart and raised one to his brother's mouth. Sam grinned in approval and let his brother feed him, only using his own hand to pull Dean's closer when the food was too far from his mouth.

"You're such a baby sometimes," Dean commented, but he pushed the tip of the last slice into Sam's mouth all the same. He watched Sam eat it all and lick the tomato sauce off Dean's fingers before looking at Dean expectantly.

_Spoiled brat_, Dean thought fondly. "Want more?" he asked, playing along.

Sam shook his head and kept looking at Dean until Dean rolled his eyes and got up to get the half empty two-liter bottle of Coke. Sam grabbed it, drank noisily until he was full and let out a discreet burp.

"I think I'm good now," he said, "and sleepy."

_Eat, burp, and sleep_. Dean rolled his eyes again. He cleared the bed and pulled the covers over Sam. Sam sank into the pillow, then he reached back to grab Dean's hand and placed it on his stomach.

Dean obeyed the silent request and curled his arm around his brother's waist. He leaned against Sam's back, planted a kiss in the dip of his brother's shoulder and waited, faithful guardian, prepared not to move a muscle until Sam had fallen asleep.

He would take care of his baby as long as Sammy let him.

_Part IV- Lovers' Pledge  
><em>


	12. Chapter 6 Love Don't Let Me Go P4 LP

****CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON'T LET ME GO****

**PART IV: LOVERS' PLEDGE**

When Sam woke in the middle of the afternoon, he was alone in his bed. He stretched his limbs, rolled onto his back and he saw his brother sitting in the armchair, his back turned to him, watching TV with subtitles to make as little noise as possible.

He smiled, feeling joy at the sight of Dean. The past few days had felt like months, and he had been so lonely without him.

He looked around the room. The panels where Dean had tied him up several times and made him climax so hard he had tears spilling from his eyes; the corner where he had waited for his master's call before earning the right to come on the very bed he was lying in. He turned his head and his cheeks flooded with color when he glanced at the table where Dean had spanked him more than once and taken him for the very first time.

Everywhere he looked reminded him of moments that were filled with such intensity and passion that they had woven a bond between them that could never be broken. He had always loved Dean, just not known how much, and when he had experienced, for a short while, what life would be like if he lost his brother's love, any doubt Sam ever had disappeared for good.

He knew what he wanted; the two of them, together, always. He had been wilting like a plant torn up from its roots without Dean and he needed to make sure his brother wouldn't try to break them up again the first chance he got.

He pushed the covers down, walked into the small living room, and squeezed himself into the armchair next to Dean. Dean scooted over to make what little room he could. He pulled Sam's legs up and placed them over his lap so they could both fit into the seat. His smile melted off his face when he looked at his brother: Sam had his "we have to talk and it's serious" face on, and he wasted no time getting to the point.

"I know you love me. You say you've forgiven me. I know the forgetting part is gonna take a while and I'm okay with that; but we were on the right track, so I'd like to understand why?"

"I didn't do it to hurt you. I thought, sure, you might not like it at first. I actually thought you would be mad," Dean replied, "but I was sure, if you just took the time to think about it, you'd see it was good thing and you would move on. I never expected that you'd take it so hard, much less stick around."

"Really?" Sam asked in a pained voice. "Just like that? You thought I'd walk, without a care in the world, and never look back?"

"The Sam I know could have;" Dean said softly, no accusation in his tone as he was simply stating what he believed to be a cold hard fact, "and if we hadn't let things get so confusing and crazy…"

"I'm glad we did. I needed to go past that fear and figure out how far I could actually go if I didn't have the option to run away like I always do. And I know what I want now. You, and me, the two of us. I thought you might want that too."

"You know I do. I just didn't want to wait around for the day you'd take off again."

Sam lowered his eyes. He knew that his track record spoke against him; that even if he said he never wanted to be apart again, Dean remembered all too vividly a time when Sam felt otherwise. He didn't have the power to change the past. What was he supposed to do? "What do I have to do to convince you that I love you?"

"Nothing. I know it now."

"Then why are you so sure I'll leave again? I stayed, didn't I?"

"Because, even if you're sure of what you feel, in a way you weren't before, whatever drove you away all those times is gonna happen again. Sam, whatever it is that you need, whatever it is that you're looking for, I just don't have it. Or not enough of it. I wish to God I did, but what's the point in trying, wasting our time, hurting each other more as we get in too deep if we know how it's going to end already? Things would be simpler if you found someone bett..."

"That's not true. I don't want anyone else. I want you, just the way you are."

"Whatever _I_ am has never been able to keep you before. What makes you think it will now?"

"Dean…"

"I can make an effort, Sam, I can try, hell I want to, but that's never going to be enough."

Sam's face crumbled. It was painful, hearing Dean say flat out they didn't have a snow ball's chance, because he believed that deep down Sam pretty much disliked everything Dean was. Had his brother completely missed the part where Sam would have rather stayed at the end of a leash or let himself waste away than go another day without Dean?

"You say that like I appreciate nothing about you, like it's this horrible chore to be around you. You're the one I want, Dean. We just have to work on a few things! I did, and I'm still trying. All I'm saying is no one gets it perfectly right without putting in a little work. I just need you to be a little more patient sometimes. To listen and try to understand where I'm coming from instead of just blowing up, so I don't always feel so scared when I have something to tell that I know you won't like. I need you to try to talk things out, cause they_ always_ come back to bite us in the ass when we sweep them under the rug. I need you to stop shutting me out when things get uncomfortable."

"No _no chick flick moments_?" Dean asked, trying to erase the sadness on his brother's face.

Sam sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "See, I'd be very happy if I never heard that again. People have to talk, Dean, about everything!"

"Okay." Dean smiled and started tickling the back of Sam's knees.

"Don't try and change the subject." Sam reprimanded, looking even sadder than he did before.

Dean looked down at his hands, catching himself in the act. He was doing it again. Sam was pouring his heart out, and even if he wasn't throwing a punch or turning the volume up on the radio to shut him up, he was still trying to cut the 'moment' short by making Sam laugh.

He was a work in progress, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make things work.

"I'm not," he said, touching the side of his little brother's face. He didn't want Sam to be afraid to come to him about anything ever again. How sad was it, that he was willing to die for him over and over, but had never managed to make Sam feel safe enough to confide in his big brother, or seek comfort from him when he needed it? "I'm not, babe," he repeated, his thumbs brushing the soft skin. "You need me to calm down, and listen; talk things out, not keep all that crap in, drop the stupid walls, and lean on you sometimes when things are hard; _especially_, when things are hard. I hear you, Sam."

"That's all. That's all I ask. Are you saying you can't give me that? Are you saying that you won't?"

"Of course I can; and I will," Dean promised solemnly, closing his arms around Sam.

Sam rested against his brother. He was exhausted from all the bargaining but victorious and he would go back into battle anytime it was necessary. They were worth it. What they had was one of a kind. They might have had their share of difficulties but they were meant to be. They would be happier than Dean could even dream, and together they would be invincible. He just knew it. "Then it's settled," he concluded.

Dean scoffed, amused and impressed by his brother's tenacity. Sam turned Dean's face toward his and added, "I know you're scared, I used to be scared, too. There's nothing I can do today to prove to you that our future is not the nightmare you think it'll be; so I'm gonna ask you to have a little faith, in me; trust me with your heart like I trusted you with all of me. …What do you say?"

Dean pressed their foreheads together, and whispered with a slight nod, "Yes," astonished that Sam had actually managed to put most of his fears to rest.

He had already decided that, even if their expiration date was near and their end bloody, he was willing to take the risk to have Sam a little longer. However, he had never entertained the idea that this might be the real deal for Sam; that Sam really wanted him, not because he had taken a liking to kinky sex with his 'master', or because he feared he would lose his big brother if he didn't play ball, but simply because he loved Dean too much to envision a future without him. He would always have insecurities ― his name was Dean Winchester and he had major abandonment issues, but knowing Sam was in it for keeps was all the reassurance he needed.

Sam gave his brother a kiss to seal their deal and they changed seats to be more comfortable. They spent the rest of the afternoon lazing on the couch, wrapped up in each other, mending their wounds, lost on their little island away from the world, and only separated when Dean went out to get Sam a salad shake he teased Sam mercilessly over, and buy chili fries and a candy bar for himself.

At night, they fell into the bed closest to the couch. Dean pushed Sam into the pillows. He delved his tongue between his brother's parted lips, and pressed a myriad of kisses on his mouth, each more passionate than the last. He felt Sam's fingertips stroke his lower back and he dug his hand into Sam's hair as the kisses intensified. He explored the moist cavity, hungry and possessive, keeping his mouth sealed to Sam's until he felt his brother gasp into the kiss. He broke away, nipping at the soft bottom lip to give Sam a moment to catch his breath.

"I could kiss you all night," Dean whispered, as he slid his lips over the beauty mark on Sam's jaw, taking a little detour across his throat before coming back up to claim Sam's lips again.

Sam was more than happy to grant his brother's wish and let him have his way as long as he wanted, but there was something he wanted even more, _needed_, actually. He pushed Dean back, lowered his eyes and bit his kiss swollen lip, looking hesitant.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked.

"No. I just… Dean, would you do something for me?"

"Anything you want, Sammy."

Dean saw the expression on his brother's face change. He watched a veil tear in two to reveal a long hidden pain and felt a weight fall off Sam's chest.

"Do you know the last time you called me that?" Sam asked, his voice, thin as a thread.

Dean leaned down to kiss the eyelids that were closing, probably to keep the tears in, only now realizing how much it had hurt Sam; how _that_ had been his greatest punishment, and how sad Sam had been when Dean had withheld this symbol of his unconditional love and affection.

He put his lips to Sam's ear and whispered, "I love you, Sammy. Always have, even when I was being an ass; and I always will."

A soft smile floated on Sam's lips. Before he could reply, he felt Dean's embrace tighten around him, kisses raining down on his face, gentle like a spring breeze. When his brother's lips brushed over his, he cupped Dean's nape to draw him closer, and opened his mouth to let him in. The last wall tumbled down, leaving them stripped and unarmed, without any shield to hide their battle scars.

Their bodies melded into each other and the kiss deepened, their tongues moving in a slow, endless dance while they rubbed their erections together through the layers of their jeans. They let go of each other lips and Sam let his brother undress him, lifting his arms and hips so Dean could remove his t-shirt and pull his pants down. He lay on his back, his body offered up as he spread his legs, and waited for what came next, his eyes heavy with want.

Dean let his lips glide over Sam's skin, exploring and savoring every inch of his brother's body as he worked his way back up; the sensitive area behind Sam's knees, the firm flesh of his inner thighs, the hollow of his hipbone…

Sam's muscles tensed under the hot mouth as Dean traced a path of kisses up his stomach. He followed the movement with his gaze, finding it harder to breathe as Dean got closer. A whimper caught in his throat when Dean bit into his nipple and slowly drew it into his mouth. He pulled his brother up for a tongue-searching kiss, and shuddered when Dean shifted to the curve of his neck to rake his teeth across his flesh. He reached down, grabbed the hem of Dean's T-shirt, and watched his brother's muscles roll as he was pulling the piece of clothing over Dean's head.

Dean lifted himself up to do away with his jeans then he slid down Sam's body to focus on the part he had neglected up until now. He licked a trail up the underside of Sam's shaft, rolling his tongue several times around the crown when he reached the tip. He wrapped his lips around the fat knob and let his lips travel up and down Sam's length. He felt Sam tug at his hair while moved his hips to push himself in and out of his mouth and he took his time; tasting him, sucking and curling around him, and making love to him with his mouth, never reaching that rhythm that would make Sam come too soon.

When Dean pulled away to let his tongue glide over Sam's stomach, Sam's whole body was thrumming with pleasure. Broken moans fell from his lips and his skin tingled everywhere his brother touched, every brush of Dean's mouth so intense it felt like a shot of electricity on Sam's skin.

After a while Dean got up to get the lube. He settled back between Sam's legs, wetted his fingers as his brother was watching and slowly dipped one inside Sam's body before swallowing his cock again, matching the slow bobbing of his head to each push and pull of his finger.

Sam tossed his head back, struggling to focus on the dual sensations of being penetrated and sucked at the same time. The combination of the two was making his head spin. He was past ready, and he wanted Dean, all of him, now.

The full lips kept gliding down Sam's cock and a second finger joined the first one. Dean sucked harder as he pushed his two fingers in, moving them in circles inside the tight walls. Sam let out a soft groan. His body twisted, legs spreading wider, hips shooting off the mattress, and he buried himself deeper into Dean's mouth while fucking himself on his brother's fingers. He shoved a finger into his mouth and bit into it to muffle his cries. It was so good. His head rolled on the pillow.

"Dean," he moaned, trying to get his brother to hurry it up.

Dean pulled up to plant a wet kiss on Sam's stomach. His free hand rose to stroke the smooth chest, in an attempt to calm Sam down, then he went back to nursing Sam's cock and working his intimate muscles to open him up, making sure Sam was ready, his patience and gentleness a stark contrast to the way he had taken Sam the last time, pounding him violently on the living room floor, knowing he was hurting his brother, but too damn angry to care. This time, Dean wanted Sam to experience only pleasure, treat him like he deserved to be, and show him there was much more to their relationship than Sam getting smacked around and rammed full of cock on all fours.

Dean could tell Sam was ready to explode when he finally worked the third finger in. He no longer had the strength or desire to deny Sam what he wanted, and he was so hard he felt he could come from the sounds Sam was making alone as he wriggled on the bed, calling Dean's name, begging to be taken.

He slathered lube all over his cock and wrapped his brother's hand around it, handing Sam the wheel. Sam played with the rock hard length, letting his fingers glide up and down the slick flesh, before closing them around the tip. He twisted his wrist a couple of times, sending pleasant shivers down Dean's spine and guided his brother into his entrance.

Relaxing his muscles, he slowly worked the throbbing member in, swallowing Dean to the hilt with little resistance. He left his fingers trapped between their bodies, forming them into a tight ring that he squeezed around Dean's shaft as his brother moved in and out of him.

Dean moaned at the added stimulation. He pressed his body on top of Sam's and bit his neck as he drove deep and fast into him. Sam eyes rolled to the back of his head when his brother started hitting his sweet spot harder with every stroke. It didn't take long before the pressure vibrating in his body exploded in a flood of pleasure. It was the most incredible feeling, riding the waves of ecstasy while Dean was still thrusting in and out of his depths, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, urging him to come for him.

His cock quickly grew to its full size again while Dean moved inside him. Sam locked his arms around his brother, one hand skimming up and down Dean's back. He bit into Dean's shoulder when Dean punched hard into that pleasure spot again. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with Dean's scent, relishing the taste of his skin. Words started spilling from his lips. "Feels so good, baby. Deeper… Yeah, like that… Harder." Things he was not allowed to say out loud before, while his master fucked him. Dean was happy to oblige. He picked up the pace, thrusting fast and wild, calling Sam that sweet little name while he pounded the small passage.

The nickname had the effect of an aphrodisiac on Sam, and when Dean grabbed a handful of his ass to spread him a little wider as he slammed into him, he felt a second orgasm rise within him. He came with a strangled cry, his muscles spasming around the hot flesh inside him, and he looked up when Dean called out his name, just in time to see his brother surrender to pleasure as he was pouring himself into Sam in a long, powerful climax.

"Sammy…"

Dean looked into Sam's eyes and slowly pressed his lips down on his. He wound his fingers in Sam's hair and gently explored every corner of the sweet, warm mouth. Sam moaned softly as their tongues intertwined and eagerly returned the long, languid kiss.

"I love you so much," Sam whispered when his brother finally slumped next to him, an arm hooked Sam's waist to hold him close.

Dean took Sam's hand and placed it over the left side of his chest, wordlessly replying that his heart was all Sam's. A smile blossomed on Sam's face. He nestled against his brother and closed his eyes. The last thought to cross his mind as he was drifting into sleep, was that he had never seen anything more striking than Dean, when he gave himself to the pleasure only Sam could offer him, an expression of agonizing bliss painted on his beautiful face.

_Part V- Pretty Little Angel_


	13. Chapter 6 Love Don't Let Me Go P5 PLA

**CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON'T LET ME GO**

**PART V: PRETTY LITTLE ANGEL**

Sam smiled as he explored the contours of his brother's face. His fingertip followed the arch of the eyebrow, slid down the cheek, traced the shape of the generous mouth and brushed the jaw line, dipping into the cleft of the chin they had both inherited from their father.

He was tempted to wake Dean up, just so he could stare into the bright green eyes and feel those soft lips moving under his. He decided to wait a little. He enjoyed looking at him like this, relaxed and unguarded in sleep.

He was pulled away from the bewitching sight by the ringtone of Dean's phone. He turned around and grabbed it from the bedside table, picking up when he recognized the name on the caller ID.

"Hey Bobby," he greeted.

"You sound a lot better the last time we spoke kid," the old man observed. "How are you doing? Or do I need to ask?"

Sam's smile widened. "I'm good."

"And your brother?"

Sam heard Dean stir behind him. He felt his brother's hand slide over his hip and he rolled over to look at him. He rubbed his palm to the side of Dean's face, feeling his chest tighten when Dean leaned into the touch.

"He's good, too," he replied, his eyes closing briefly when his brother pressed a quiet good morning kiss on his mouth.

"You boys okay?"

Sam watched Dean climb on top of him and he jumped when he felt the tip of his tongue curl around his nipple.

"Yeah, we're…um, we're doing great," he panted, bucking like a wild horse to get Dean off of him, when Dean proceeded to tickle his belly with the tip of his nose.

"Good to hear, 'cause I need you both with your heads in the game. I have a lead: The sword of-"

"Uh Bobby, hold on a second please!"

Sam covered the phone receiver and let out a small moan when he felt a warm gust of breath hover over the tip of his cock. He lifted his head, pressed his knees on both sides of Dean's head, and started to squeeze, threatening his brother with a whispered, "Don't you dare!", ready to choke him with his thighs if he tried to pull that stunt while _Uncle_ Bobby was on the end of the line.

Dean raised his hands in surrender, and moved himself out of harm's way when Sam finally loosened his grip. He headed to the bathroom and winked at his brother before closing the door.

Sam let himself fall back on the bed with a smile, and he turned his attention back to his interlocutor.

"Uh, yeah, I'm sorry, Bobby. You were saying? Something about a sword?"

"Yeah, ya idjit. The sword of Michael. You boys got drunk last night, didn't you?" Bobby asked, with the indulgent tone of a parent accustomed to his sons' shenanigans.

"Uh…"

"Sleep it off and come to Sioux Falls tomorrow. Don't get behind the wheel today, ya hear?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. See you tomorrow," Sam replied, grateful he didn't have to come up with a lie to explain why he was so distracted.

He hung up and laughed out loud. They still had a whole planet to save, but he was feeling good and strangely carefree. He was madly in love, he had his brother back, and Dean loved him, too. It was all he needed, and he was in the mood to celebrate and have a little fun. He decided he would follow his brother into the bathroom, take his shower with him, and maybe collect on that blow job Dean was teasing him with.

There was just one thing he needed to do, then he could spend the rest of the day floating in a dream before they went back to work tomorrow. One thing that was nagging at him and still weighing on his mind. He had held on to it all this time, but now that they had dealt with the issues of the previous year, he was ready to get rid of the last reminder of the most horrible fight the Winchester brothers ever had.

He picked up his own phone and looked for it. He had only listened to it once, but every word was burned into his brain, and he knew exactly where to find it even if he skipped over it every time he checked his messages.

He hadn't meant to listen to it, really hadn't, but the second he heard the first words, _"Hey, it's… me"_, instead of _"Listen to me you blood sucking freak…"_, he knew something was wrong. All the joy bled out of his pores as he listened to Dean, apologizing to him, and telling him he would always be his brother, no matter what. He sat up at the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor and his back hunched as his eyes welled up with tears. _"What are you, a twelve year old girl? Just play it already."_

_The bitch. _

He had had doubts until the end. Many times, he had wondered if Dean wasn't right, especially when poor Cindy McKellan was screaming for her life in the trunk of the car. He had only found it in himself to drink her blood when he had heard the fake message, and been convinced he had lost Dean ― everything ― forever. Who knows all the devastation the world, the two of them, and himself could have been spared if he had had heard Dean's real message? He hid his face in his hands and gave himself away to the pain and guilt. He didn't hear his brother call his name several times.

"Sammy! Sammy, you okay? Is it Bobby? What's going on?"

Dean fell to his knees in front of his brother and cupped his face, forcing him to look up.

"Sammy, say something, you're starting to freak me out."

"Dean…"

Sam shook his head, still refusing to open his eyes. He was ashamed, all over again, to look his brother in the eyes. Just when he thought they were finally putting this nightmare behind them.

"Talk to me, babe," Dean begged. "Whatever it is, you know it's gonna be okay, don't you? We'll figure it out, you know we will."

"I… I didn't get your message," Sam stammered after a while.

"Huh?" was all Dean could offer, as he was completely caught off guard.

"I never got your message," Sam repeated. "I never got _that _message."

Dean finally noticed the cell phone on the floor, still on. He could pick it up and listen to whatever was playing to make sure, but he already knew what it was. Besides, he could only think of one thing that would still had the power to rattle Sam like this; something to do with the night everything went wrong. He turned the phone off and smiled in relief.

After Sam had walked out on him at the hotel, Dean had been close to giving up, but he had recognized the wisdom of Bobby's advice and pushed his pride aside to reach out to his brother one more time. Back then it had hurt to see that Sam had disregarded the olive branch he was extending; and it made Dean feel so good to discover that Sam had simply never gotten it.

He didn't know exactly what Sam got instead, but he had some idea. Dean's voice, and horrible, hurtful words that had thrown Sammy over the edge. Dean was surprised he didn't feel even a sliver of anger at the memory of the demon he knew had doctored his message.

All he saw was that, if she had felt compelled to give that extra push to get Sam back on mission, it was because Sam had doubted her, and doubted the soundness of what they were doing together. It meant that, even after everything that had happened between them, Sam was still thinking about Dean, and wondering whether his big brother could have been telling the truth the whole time.

Dean moved closer to Sam and pressed kisses over the wet cheeks, wiping them with his mouth, ignoring Sam's feeble attempts to make him stop. He took the slightly trembling hands in his and got up.

"Come here, Angel," he said, pulling the tense frame into the safe haven of his arms.

I'm not," Sam protested weakly. _Angel_… Not the dicks they needed to be hidden from by the one angel they could trust. Dean was referring to the kind their mother, Mary, believed in; good, benevolent protectors who watched over you, showed you the light when you got lost, lifted you to safety when you fell. The name fit Dean better, especially if you added 'Guardian' to it. "That's more your thing…" Sam mumbled. People used different words to describe him. _Monster _and _abomination_ came to mind. Angel? "I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," Dean insisted, caressing the damp cheeks. "To me, you are. Since the day I first saw you, and you grabbed my heart with your tiny little fists and refused to let go. You had me wrapped around your fingers, even then."

Dean smiled when Sam chuckled in spite of himself, and he led him to the bathroom and into the shower. He turned the water on, soaped up his hands, moved Sam around so he was facing the spray and he started rubbing his brother's upper body. His slippery fingers moved in circles, massaging the aches and pains, guilt and old hurts, out of the back he had once covered in bruises, lovingly gliding over every muscle, dip, and curve, moving all the way up to knead the shoulders and ease the tension out of the neck.

He slowly worked his way down the arms, and by the time he had reached the tip of the fingers, Sam's body was pliant and completely relaxed under his hands. He grinned at the blissful sighs escaping from his brother's mouth, and got on his knees to give the magnificent backside he couldn't get enough of, the same treatment, squeezing and stroking the glistening globes before running his fingers up and down the cleft. He resisted the temptation to spend too much time there, and traveled down the back of the long, harmonious legs, lathering them all the way down to the ankles.

Sam was swaying on his feet when Dean turned him around. He leaned against the tiles and braced himself against the wall when his brother started washing his feet, careful and worshipful, giving absolution and praise, like a humble king showing the one who thought he was but a lowly sinner, that he was a prince in his eyes, a priceless jewel to be treasured and admired. Every slow touch of the cleansing ritual felt so sacred and erotic that, when Dean's hands reached the inside of his thighs, Sam had tears in his eyes and his flesh was swelling with arousal.

Dean lavished attention on that much appreciated part of Sam's anatomy, leaving it rigid and aching. He smoothed his soapy palms up the solid abs, and let them roam all over the muscular chest before reuniting them around Sam's neck. He allowed Sam to steal a few hungry kisses and told him to close his eyes while he washed his face with the same care and gentleness Sam had used, when he was mapping out Dean's features moments earlier. Then he turned Sam around one more time to wash his hair and he joined him under the shower head, letting the soap and hot water coursing down their bodies do the rest while they kissed.

After that, Dean took Sam, who was feeling drowsy, loose, and pure as the whitest snow, back into their room, to dirty him up some more, as he whispered sweet promises amid naughty words in his ears, and showed him how much he loved him, over and over again; and when Sam passed out under his brother's kisses hours later, sore, hoarse, dripping with come and sticky with sweat, he had never felt so clean; immaculate and unstained.

_Epilogue: Call Me Sammy_


	14. Chapter 6 Epilogue CMS

**EPILOGUE: CALL ME SAMMY**

_A year and six months later._

"So hold me close, better hang on tight. Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride. We're two kids hitching down the road of life. Our world, our fight!"

Sam made the Impala roar, taking off like a rocket when the light turned green. He was yelling the Bon Jovi song blaring from his iPod at the top of his lungs, throwing surreptitious glances at his brother from time to time to catch him rolling his eyes at him.

"_Driver picks the music."_ The old rules were still in place. They had also added a new one: Whoever drove on the way up, ceded the wheel on the way back.

"Cause you were born to be my baby, and baby, I was made to be your man. We got something to believe in, even if we don't know where we stand. Only God would know the reasons, but I bet he must have had a plan-"

"Turn that crap music off, Sammy," Dean said, right on cue, hiding a smile behind the gruff tone.

He loved seeing Sam like this, making up for the years confined to the passenger seat, the wind in his face as he sped down the two-lane blacktop, laughter punctuating the rhymes he sang off key, loud enough to break the windows ―and Dean's ears―.

This was what he had always wanted, to be able to see Sammy happy, instead of morose and haunted, his tall frame hunched under the weight of the world and of all the demons that were chasing him in his nightmares.

"Shotgun shuts his cock-sucking mouth," Sam replied with a wink.

Dean chortled and cuffed Sam upside the head, further messing the carefully styled locks already tangled by the fast wind. Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother, wiggling the tip in a suggestive way and continued 'singing'.

They had spent the past weekend at Sioux Falls, relaxing and playing cards, while sharing Bobby's burnt turkey with a ton of cranberry sauce, and all the beer they needed to make it go down. It was their first Thanksgiving since they had removed the impending threat of Armageddon. The food had been awful, but they had a lot to be thankful for.

They had spent a harrowing year looking for ways to stop the Devil. Through the highs and lows, angels' machinations and Lucifer's threats, they had drawn strength from each other, and kept a united front while they defeated their numerous enemies.

A final alliance with an old nemesis had helped them put Satan back in the dungeon, while avoiding turning into the vessels of mass destruction they were supposedly born to be. The Archangel Gabriel, who had been hiding on earth disguised as the Trickster God Loki, had refused to kill his brother. Thankfully, the millennia he had spent among mortals, and his healthy appreciation for earthly delights, had made him sympathetic to the plague befalling humans.

He had revealed to the Winchesters that the Horsemen's rings constituted the keys to the cage, and held Lucifer prisoner inside a wall of Holy Fire to give Sam and Dean enough time to open the hole that would drag Nick and his demon down without getting turned into finger paint in the process.

Six months after they had saved the world with the help of a winged runaway, they were coming back from the swanky place Dean had whisked Sam off to for a special occasion. Toward the end of their meal, he had handed Sam the deed to the house they had been occupying for a month and a half.

Dean had been working on the surprise for a while. When he had first gone to Bobby for assistance, the retired hunter had informed him that he already had a couple of houses in mind for them. After the war, Bobby had been put in charge of managing the assets of the fallen hunters who had no will and no family to pass on their properties to.

Dean had visited the three homes and chosen the one he knew Sam would like best. He had dragged his little brother there from their crappy motel room, in the middle of the night, pretending a friend of Bobby's was lending it to them for a few months.

Once he and Bobby had falsified all the necessary documents, Dean had made reservations at a nice place Sam had mentioned once, and taken him there to unveil the surprise. Sam's joyful response had made all the sneaking around and shady alibis Dean had used while he was plotting behind his brother' back worth it.

"Can't believe it's ours," Sam said when he parked the car in front of the two-story, three-bedroom house, his eyes sparkling as he looked at it as if he was seeing it for the first time.

Dean followed his brother inside, his grin getting wider when he saw how Sam was planning on showing his appreciation. The only thing more beautiful than Sam in a suit was Sam without anything on, and Dean stared, hypnotized while his brother tossed his suit jacket onto the table near the stair case, toed off his shoes, took off his socks, then unknotted his tie, letting it slip to the floor before unbuttoning his shirt and unhooking his belt, slow and deliberate. He watched every move, his eyes darkening with lust when the pants dropped to the ankles, followed by the last piece of clothing.

Sam tugged playfully at Dean's tie before walking away to make his way up the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder with a little smirk and turned away again.

Dean bit his lips, starving all over again. The way Sam switched from blushing virgin to seducer and back again, drove him crazy. His eyes slid down the muscular back and rested on the small letter tattooed above Sam's butt. He raced up the stairs and wrapped his arms around his brother's thighs, preventing Sam from going any further.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked.

The little tease shrugged, looking like he had no idea what Dean was getting so worked up about. "Upstairs," Sam answered with a charming pout.

"Uh, uh, baby boy."

Dean followed the lines of the capital "D" artistically drawn over the small of Sam's back with his tongue. He had once told Sam how much he liked that spot on his body, and Sam had Dean's initial tattooed there three months ago as a gift to him.

Dean loved it. He looked down at it when he made love to Sam from behind, and touched it constantly, without even realizing it, through his brother's clothes. Sam always got the same shy, pleased smile when he did, and Dean knew it reminded Sam of the time Dean guided him around with his hand pressed there, a short moment in time when Sam wore a slave collar around his neck for the world to see. Dean had given it back to Sam to do with what he wanted, and Sam had kept it, wearing it once in a while to surprise Dean, and when he was in the mood to be handled a little roughly.

Dean moved his lips over the inked skin. He was getting a similar tattoo done for Sam's birthday. He would place the "S" on one of his brother's favorite spot, his shoulder. Either the one Sam rested his head on when he was tired, or the other, the one he sank his teeth into when he was about to come.

Sam arched his back under the soft caress and Dean made him turn around, pushing Sam down until he was sitting, leaning back against the steps. He caught Sam's mouth in a kiss and felt the long fingers gently undo his tie and open his shirt.

"I love you," Sam said when Dean left his lips to nibble on his throat, rubbing his crotch against the soft fabric of the black dress pants, aroused by the fact that he was completely naked and Dean wasn't, yet.

"Dean," he moaned when he felt his brother's bulge ground into him.

"What do you want, Angel?" Dean answered.

He wanted to give Sam everything. A home, a safe life, unconditional love, and all the kinky sex you could want were a nice start, but if Sam wanted a piece of the moon, or front row tickets to the next Bon Jovi concert, Dean would get them for him if Sam asked nicely enough.

Sam smiled. _Angel._ He liked that nickname, almost as much as the other one. Heat rushed to his cheeks when he thought of the sinful things Dean was always doing to him when he was calling him that. He pulled his brother closer and whispered, "Call me Sammy" in his ear, before planting a wet kiss on his neck, his eyes lighting up with the pure, juvenile joy of a man who no longer had to worry about demons jumping his bones, or pushing him into the bowels of Hell ever again.

Dean complied with a chuckle. Their relationship had been painful, chaotic, complicated, so powerful and threatening, they had to defend it from demons and angels who repeatedly tried to tear them apart; but when they were like this, two kids playing naughty games in a world that had regained its balance, it was as simple as Dean, the big brother who would steal the neighbor's Christmas tree and every last star from the sky for the little one he cherished, and Sammy, the little one who cried bitter tears and would offer all his toys when the big brother he idolized was disappointed in him, and stopped calling him by that sweet name he swore he hated.

"So," Sam asked seductively, after Dean had repeated it enough times, "are you gonna fuck me right here or take me upstairs?"

"I'm thinking both. Let's start with the stairs."

"Really?" Sam asked. "Cause I got a surprise for you, but it's in the room."

"Yeah? Can't wait to see it."

Sam looked down and fiddled with his brother's amulet, suddenly wondering if it was a good idea. What if it was too early? A silver ring to replace the one Dean had lost during the last year, but which meant something completely different than the previous one.

"I hope you'll like it," he said, unable to hide the uncertainty in his voice. He was pretty sure Dean would be fine with the concept. It was the whole, old-fashion, getting down on one knee with a ring in a box thing he wasn't too sure about. Hey, at least he was naked. Dean never said no to him when he was naked…

Dean leaned down to give Sam another kiss. He let his tongue wind around Sam's for a while and gently nibbled on the soft bottom lip as he pulled away. He smiled at his brother, wondering how Sam could be worried about anything when he could make Dean putty in his hands with a single glance. "You know I love you," he said. "And I'm sure I'm gonna like it."

Sam nodded, feeling more confident. He grabbed Dean's wrist and pulled him toward their room. Dean gladly followed, his eyes locked on the single letter that was moving to the rhythm of his brother's steps.

Upstairs, he turned off the light in the hallway, grinning at the thought of the ring he had been hiding at the bottom of his drawer for a week, waiting for this day to give it to Sam.

"Besides, I got one for you, too," he said as he was closing the door behind them.

"Why don't we exchange them at the same time?" Sam suggested.

"Sure," Dean agreed with a covert smile.

He couldn't wait to see the expression on his baby brother's face when he popped the question. He let out a quiet laugh, very happy with himself.

There was no way Sammy could match his second surprise, he would bet the house on it…

La Fin


End file.
